A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON
by Darke Angelus
Summary: Volume 3 of the BV Trilogy- Vegeta and Bulma use their honeymoon to search for the Dragonballs. Combine the Saiyan prince's destructive nature with Bulma's thirst for adventure and they make quite a unique team! COMPLETE
1. Prologue

******************************* The Disclaimer: blah blah blah... DRAGONBALL Z... yadda yadda yadda... copyright of all characters... blah blah blah... the great, all-powerful Akira Toriyama... yadda yadda yadda... C'mon an' get me ya lousy Feds!... HAH! ******************************* A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON © 2003 Darke Angelus Prologue  
  
"Yee-HAWWW!"  
  
Bursting through the upper canopy of white cumulous clouds, Gohan emerged into a dazzling blue sky and released an excited shout of pure joy. It was the official first day of summer and the calm day was perfect for paying some old, dear friends a visit. His sudden appearance startled a flock of seagulls and they hastily got out of his carefree path, squalling their displeasure in a flurry of feathers and bird shit. Passing them a little apologetic bow, the boy fell back into the clouds again and sped a lackadaisical course that was roughly taking him towards the Western Capital.  
  
It wasn't long before he sensed the deliberate pulse of a ki he immediately recognized. Slowing his course, he waited for the other person to catch up. "Hi Piccolo!" he greeted cheerfully when the huge warrior dropped out of the clouds beside him.  
  
The alien was wearing his trademark turban and cape, that didn't surprise Gohan. Piccolo didn't sport much of a wardrobe, or much of a fashion sense, for that matter. However, the usual tension in his emerald features appeared to have eased over the months of peace and he appeared much younger than his substantial years. He gave the boy a once-over and passed him a congenial nod. As ever, he was never quite successful in concealing his pride and admiration that he felt towards the powerful lad. Despite his efforts, he was soon smiling in the boy's presence. Gohan's pleasant nature, so much like his father's, was infectious.  
  
"Your mother finally freed you from a day of studying, I see," he rumbled. "How is the babe?"  
  
Gohan moved a forelock of thick hair away from his eyes and released a laugh. "All Goten wants to do is eat. He's constantly crying for a bottle, day or night. Mom said that he's a perfect miniature of Dad."  
  
Piccolo nodded in accord. The few times that he had visited Gohan he had caught sight of the newborn and been amazed at the resemblance. At only five months of age, the boy was already sporting the unruly mane of his father. It was as if Gokou had known of his impending doom during the Cell Games a year before, and managed to pass on a living reminder to his wife in their final coupling. The thought held an odd measure of comfort to him and it was obvious that Gohan had finally made his peace with the loss at long last. The anniversary of the hero's death had come and gone three weeks ago and the boy appeared to be thriving.  
  
"Everything's alright though," Gohan added. "Thanks to Mr. Satan's generosity we can afford anything he needs. Mom even put aside a portion of the money to cover college for us both."  
  
Ah yes... Mr. Satan's benevolent gesture, Piccolo mused silently. He, along with the rest of the Z Fighters, had witnessed the fraud's contribution to the grieving Son family at the hospital. Everyone appeared to have bought into the charade, everyone with the exception of one skeptical Namek. Piccolo had noticed the absence of one particular individual and his suspicions intensified when he returned to the Lookout and conversed with Dende. According to the Namek youth, there had been a flare of Saiyan ki in the Capital a few hours before Mr. Satan's appearance. Mr. Popo mentioned a brief news bulletin he had seen on his television set about some minor explosion in one of Mr. Satan's dojos. He immediately winced from the incredulous stare Dende passed him. TV's weren't permitted on the Lookout. Ignoring the ensuing bickering over the issue, Piccolo's mind nagged over the meager scraps of information that he had: A poor family with limited means, an inexplicable 'explosion', and a suddenly remorseful human. Added to the mix was the sensation of Saiyan ki and there was only one pureblooded Saiyan left on the Earth.  
  
Vegeta.  
  
It actually all made sense. The more Piccolo thought about it, the more amazed he became. In one brilliant move, the Saiyan prince had managed to find a way to get Chi Chi, Gohan, and the new baby out of Capsule Corporation with a scheme that satisfied everyone (with the exception of Mr. Satan that was- Not that the old blowhard would ever miss it). Most amazingly was that no one had been killed in the effort.  
  
You surprised me again, Piccolo thought, submerging a chuckle of amusement. He wished that he could have been present to see the expression on Mr. Satan's face when Vegeta confronted him.  
  
He was vaguely aware that Gohan was speaking and drew out of his reverie in time to hear; "- happened so fast that I never really got the time to say goodbye to Bulma and thank her for letting us move in. Vegeta, too. He and my mom... really didn't see eye to eye. Things were kind of tense there, near the end."  
  
There's an understatement, Piccolo figured. "So you haven't been in contact with them since you left?"  
  
Offering a regretful shrug, the boy said, "Things have been hectic with Goten, and studying, and farm work. I've been really busy and mom refused to call just in case Vegeta picked up the phone. Bulma hasn't visited either. I imagine she's got other things on her mind," he finished with a smug grin.  
  
Piccolo's emerald brows furrowed in concentration. It had been five months since Goten's birth and no one had detected so much as a ripple of destructive ki from Vegeta. The Namek knew that Bulma possessed some manner of control over the Saiyan but he found the inactivity distressing for no reason that he could put into words.  
  
Gohan summed up his concern to perfection when he innocently asked, "You're going to Capsule Corporation check up on him too, aren't you?"  
  
"I most certainly am not!" Piccolo snapped, baring his fangs in warning. Sniffing in disdain, he turned his head away and stated, "It's been a year and the Dragonballs are now fully charged. I figured that I'd retrieve the radar from Bulma and collect them."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"To wish back Ivory City and all the people that Vegeta killed."  
  
"Oh... right," Gohan said, momentarily forgetting the carnage that Vegeta had wrought while suffering from the affects of memory loss. For a brief period of time, he had reverted back to his prior evil persona. Over 30,000 people had been slaughtered on that day and the media was still speculating over the cause of the destruction. He passed Piccolo a shrewd glance and persisted, "Seeing how Vegeta was doing never even crossed your mind?"  
  
"We're just wasting time with this nonsense," Piccolo said shortly and flew on ahead. Laughing to himself, Gohan shook his head in amusement and quickly followed his former sensei.  
  
In an effort to avoid any more conversation that might reveal his true motivations, Piccolo sped a direct course to Capsule Corporation that had Gohan struggling to keep up. It wasn't long before they landed in the courtyard where Dr. and Mrs. Briefs were babysitting Trunks as they had an informal picnic out on the front lawn. The boy was presently stalking his grandfather's cat, which was hiding in one of the rosebushes as protection from the aggressive youngster. When Piccolo and Gohan appeared, Trunks' attention was momentarily diverted, and the black cat finally streaked away to safety.  
  
Angered that his hunt had been interrupted, Trunks scampered back to his grandmother and eyed the intruders warily. He made an odd sound in the back of his throat that Mrs. Briefs always dismissed as an endearing purr. Her husband wasn't so naive. The boy was actually growling and the elderly man slowly edged away from him, trying not to be obvious about it.  
  
"Gohan! My! How wonderful it is to see you!" Mrs. Briefs gushed. "It looks as if you've grown a few inches. And Piccolo! What a special day this is!" The blonde got to her feet and greeted them with her usual exuberance. Trunks reluctantly trailed along after her, scowling the entire way.  
  
"Hello Mrs. Briefs. Dr. Briefs," Gohan said politely. "We've come to visit Bulma and Vegeta. Are they here?"  
  
"Oh! You missed them! If you had come just a few days before you could have seen them off. It was such a wonderful ceremony. Just buh-beautiful-" The woman dissolved into a confusing barrage of tears but she was laughing in delight while she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. Watching his grandmother with alarm, Trunks focused his accusing blue-eyed glare at Piccolo and angrily stalked forward.  
  
Dr. Briefs knew what that meant. "Trunks- NO!"  
  
"Well, look at you," Piccolo rumbled as he looked down at the toddler in amusement. Damned if the boy wasn't assuming a fighting stance that was immediately recognizable. "Vegeta's been training him already?"  
  
"He's just been teaching him a proper kata," Dr. Briefs said. "The boy watches his every move and learns quickly. Watch out, Piccolo."  
  
"This kid can't hurt me," Piccolo responded in amusement as he towered over the diminutive hybrid. He put his taloned hands on his hips and leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. "Can you Trunks? Take your best shot."  
  
Practically snarling now, the boy yelled, "Bad pickle-man made gramma cry!" and latched himself onto Piccolo's leg with blinding speed. He bit through the fabric of the Namek's gi and ripped out a chunk of green flesh with his bare teeth.  
  
Releasing a shout of surprise more than pain, Piccolo reached down and gripped the back of the boy's Hulk t-shirt. Pulling him away actually took some effort but he did it as quickly as possible and held the youth up so they were eye level.  
  
"Oh yeah, you're Vegeta's son, all right," he muttered, observing the thrashing boy with a mixture of emotions in his dark eyes. The Trunks he had met from the future had been raised primarily by Bulma and trained by Gohan, and he had adopted both of their peaceful natures. In this timeline, Vegeta was now the dominant influence in the boy's life. There was no telling how Trunks might turn out from such warped tutelage and his current antics were not an encouraging sign.  
  
Gohan was sitting on the grass and practically in hysterics over the hilarious scene. He watched his mentor set the boy back down on the grass and started laughing again when Trunks darted behind his grandmother's legs and stuck out his tongue. Piccolo could only sigh in annoyance. "If they're off together, that's fine with me. I just came for the Dragonball radar."  
  
"Suurrre you did," Gohan snickered under his breath.  
  
"It's not here," Dr. Briefs told him. "Bulma and Vegeta have it."  
  
"They have it?" Piccolo couldn't believe his hearing, which- like the size of his ears- was impressive. "Why would they take it?"  
  
"To search for the Dragonballs, of course," Mrs. Briefs scolded. "It was the only way that Bulma could get Vegeta to go."  
  
"Go? Go where? What are you talking about?!"  
  
"Go on their honeymoon," Dr. Briefs said calmly. He hesitated for perhaps one full minute before deciding to drop the bombshell. "Bulma and Vegeta got married three days ago."  
  
Gohan made a gagging sound of shock on his throat and, for an instant, actually forgot how to breathe. Piccolo betrayed no outward sign of emotion but his antennae gave one convulsive twitch that caused his turban to fly off onto the nearby bushes. Trunks chased after it and ripped it to pieces. The Namek never even noticed. "Vegeta... and Bulma... married." He couldn't seem to wrap his stunned mind around the concept.  
  
"Holy cow!" Gohan managed to get out. "Where did it-? Why-? How come nobody told us?"  
  
"They're both very private people," the elderly man said. "Bulma wanted to keep it out of the newspapers so that they could travel without being bothered. She planned on telling everyone about the marriage when they got back."  
  
Piccolo figured that it made sense. Bulma had done the same thing when she had been pregnant with Trunks and no one had been the wiser for it. In many ways, the heiress was as shrewd and calculating as her alien counterpart. It wasn't a thought that gave him any comfort and he had to submerge a rare shiver that ran down his spine.  
  
"Wow," Gohan whispered in amazement. "I can't believe that Vegeta would go along with any of that. How did Bulma get him to do it?"  
  
"It was Vegeta who proposed first," Dr. Briefs told him, not surprised by the incredulous looks he got back. It was an image that had greeted him in the mirror for weeks after it occurred. "He gave Bulma a diamond that was the size of a baseball. That man doesn't do anything ordinary, does he? It was the darndest thing I ever saw."  
  
"They had a beautiful, little ceremony in the interior atrium of the Headquarters building," Mrs. Briefs explained. She wasn't crying yet but she was close to it. "We were there and Trunks, too, of course. He was adorable in his little tuxedo. Bulma wore this gorgeous designer wedding dress and Vegeta was sooo handsome in his Saiyan armor. Everything went simply perfect. Come inside and I'll show you the pictures! We hired a videographer but for some reason the tapes are blank sooo-" Gohan immediately followed after her as she went inside the Headquarters building, babbling in her usual endearing manner. Dr. Briefs scooped up Trunks who was still holding onto a scrap of Piccolo's turban as a prize. "Are you coming?"  
  
"In a minute," Piccolo said.  
  
"I know, it's a lot to absorb," the old man responded. He started to turn to leave but looked back long enough to say, "I wouldn't have believed it either. But I saw how they looked at one another when the minister pronounced them husband and wife. It was... amazing. They've both changed so much since they've been together and in a very good way. I'm very proud of them both." He coughed into his hand as his voice hoarsened with emotion and he passed the large alien one last smile and went into the building. Piccolo couldn't be sure but he thought that Trunks was trying to give him the finger before the door swung shut.  
  
Tuning out all of the distractions of the city around him, Piccolo tried to rationalize this strange, new information. He supposed he should have been happy for the couple. Bulma had apparently found her long-awaited soul mate and Vegeta had actually allowed himself to conform to Earth rituals and make their union legitimate. As ever, the Namek rationalized the present situation with his usual pessimism: A brilliant human with an insatiable curiosity who thrived on adventure was now united with a homicidal alien capable of wielding incalculable destruction.  
  
And they were out on their honeymoon, roaming the Earth for the Dragonballs. Piccolo didn't know whether to laugh or cry. After a long struggle, he finally regained his composure and reluctantly joined Gohan inside of the Headquarters building. Mrs. Briefs was setting out a dessert tray while she told them of the couple's very first day...  
  
************************************** Next Chapter: Vegeta and Bulma's first day as husband and wife! 


	2. Road Trip

A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON © 2003 Darke Angelus Chapter One ~ ROAD TRIP  
  
"-Loooove is a flower with petals of gooold,  
It sways with the wind for lovers to behooold.  
Loooove is a star so twinkling and briiight,  
Staring from the heavens with its godly siiight.  
Loooove-"  
  
"Enough of that shit," Vegeta said and shut the radio off.  
  
Betraying a wounded sound, Bulma turned in the passenger seat to confront him. "Why did you do that? It's a beautiful song."  
  
"The guy sounds like a castrated eunuch," Vegeta growled, slouching back in his seat with his arms crossed. He was presently glowering at the car in front of him and having a poor time ignoring the persistent beeps of the other cars that enveloped them on all sides.  
  
Bulma fanned herself with a magazine and accepted the Saiyan's ill-tempered explanation. She was really too hot to argue. So far they had been a married couple for less than four hours and nothing was going as planned. They had made a quick clothes change after the ceremony and had hoped to beat rush-hour traffic. They were ambushed by the staff as they tried to leave and dragged into a party led by an ecstatic Charles McNeal. Somehow, the eccentric scientist had found out about the secret marriage and told everyone in Research and Development. Due to his innovative designs, Vegeta was held in the highest regard by the department and he and Bulma had little choice but to endure toast after toast that praised their union. The party finally began to wind down when Charles, drunk beyond belief, began to complain about why he hadn't been chosen as Vegeta's best man. Before a brawl ensued, the pair finally managed to escape and begin their first official adventure as husband and wife.  
  
They had made perhaps three miles from home before they became stuck in gridlocked out-bound traffic. The top and both doors were off of Vegeta's jeep and the sun was beating down mercilessly. The air conditioner was running full blast but the cold air it provided quickly evaporated in the muggy heat.  
  
"If we were in one of my cars, we'd at least be waiting in relative comfort," Bulma groused. Vegeta had insisted on taking his out-dated vehicle because he was THE MAN and wanted to do all the driving.  
  
"Well, you can't very well pop a capsule here. There's barely enough room to breathe. Get used to it."  
  
"Easy for you to say, you're immune to the heat."  
  
Vegeta flashed her an irritated glare. He was wearing a black tank top and loose jeans that should have been attracting the sun's rays but he didn't appear to notice. In truth, he was actually damned uncomfortable but it had nothing to do with the heat and she knew it. He glanced at the dashboard clock for the fifth time in ten minutes and slammed his palm against the steering wheel in frustration.  
  
"Take it easy. Traffic will start moving soon enough," Bulma told him calmly.  
  
"You said that thirty minutes ago!" he snapped. "Why the hell couldn't we have spent the night at Capsule Corp. and just leave in the morning? This doesn't make any damned sense!"  
  
"I am NOT going to consummate our marriage in my parent's house!" she said in a hard voice. "I made reservations at the hotel in the next city for a reason."  
  
"A fat lot of good that's doing us right now," he grumbled, glancing at her sidelong. Bulma was wearing a silk-knit halter dress that was quickly becoming see-through the more she perspired. As she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the short hem of the dress pulled up to her thigh before she readjusted it.  
  
The mere glance of her flesh was just too much. In one desperate move Vegeta leapt on top of her, straddled the passenger seat, and began groping her body as he kissed her. In the car beside them, a mother took one look at the scene and tried to cover the eyes of her curious six-year old. Behind them, a bunch of college students crammed into a Mini were beeping their encouragement. Obviously, it wasn't long before they became the center of attention.  
  
"Are you crazy? Knock it off!" Bulma yelled, swatting at him with the magazine.  
  
"I can't wait anymore," he panted raggedly. Pulling open the top of her dress, he managed one lick at her nipple before she kicked him off.  
  
Blushing furiously, Bulma pulled her top closed and tried to disappear in her seat. "You can wait a few more hours."  
  
"I've been waiting long enough!" he bellowed.  
  
That was the truth. To lend more 'punch' to their wedding night, Bulma had cut him off three weeks before the ceremony. She said that it was a popular choice among couples that had been living together for an extended period. Vegeta just thought it was cruel and unusual punishment for a crime he hadn't committed. The moment he had first laid eyes on her in that flowing white wedding dress he had started getting aroused. That wasn't something easily concealed in the spandex he had worn and it had taken all of his mental willpower not to look like a pervert in front of Bulma's family and the minister. Once in his street clothes, it wasn't so obvious but he had been sporting a half-hard erection ever since they had finally escaped Capsule Corp. Right now, however, there wasn't anything half-assed about it. He was at full attention and nearly stark-raving crazy with lust. Trapped in the close confines of the jeep he could actually smell her womanhood and he started to visibly shake.  
  
"Vegeta-" she reached out towards him.  
  
"Don't touch me! Not unless you're prepared to start something you intend to finish," he growled, recoiling away from her. He was close to snapping and knew from past experience no amount of spectators would distract him from his purpose once he got started. During his days of hanging with Radditz and Nappa, there had been times when having sex had been a public sport. As Bulma shifted position, he caught wind of her heady woman-scent and had to jump out of the jeep.  
  
"Where are you going?!" she asked in alarm.  
  
"To find out what's holding up the bloody traffic."  
  
"...Looking like that?" She was pointing to the front of his jeans and the obvious bulge outlined against his left thigh.  
  
Too aggravated to form words, he released a sound like a hiss and fazed out of sight. There were some startled exclamations by the people who had been watching them and Bulma was grateful when they went back to talking among themselves. Truth to tell, she was just as sexually frustrated as Vegeta felt and was eager to feel him inside of her. But certainly not here!  
  
Every chance that she got, she stared at the ring on her left hand and had to touch it to assure herself that it was real. The huge diamond that Vegeta had given her was currently in the hands of a master jeweler who was cleaning and faceting it. At her request, the jeweler had cut off a 2-carat segment, given it an exclusive Asscher cut, and set it in a platinum band that was now her wedding ring. It was the most special, most beautiful thing she had ever owned in her life.  
  
Just a few more hours, she thought longingly as she began fanning herself again with the battered magazine. In a few short hours we'll finally get to make love as husband and wife. How romantic is that?  
  
She won't let me screw her, Vegeta was thinking at the precise moment as he was crouched in a nearby ditch. How fucked-up is that?  
  
So far, his impression of marriage was poor and it didn't look to be improving anytime soon. If someone had taken the time to explain precisely what he was getting himself into, he never would have dug for the rock that had put this whole mess into motion: Three weeks of perplexing celibacy, her parents acting even weirder than normal, getting dressed up into costumes for a boring sermon that had lasted all of ten minutes. These humans were crazy!  
  
What confused him the most was the platinum band that encircled the third finger of his left hand. Bulma wore a gaudier version that had a piece of the diamond he had given her. She explained that wearing the items symbolized their union. To Vegeta, it suggested that they were mutual property. He wasn't about to sacrifice his hard-won independence just so that he wear the equivalence of a dog collar. They continued to argue over the issue right up until the day before the ceremony. Bulma relented that he wear his wedding band only until they had collected all of the Dragonballs and made the wish. No longer. He probably would have said no even to that compromise but he was bored to death with the ridiculous topic. He agreed simply to shut her up.  
  
Or was it something else? The more he looked at the odd object on his hand, the less it bothered him. Bulma had the jeweler engrave the ring with the royal crest of Vegetasei and the sight of that design offered perplexing comfort. It should have been a symbol of loss but it seemed to have become one that promised a fresh start. For him. For what the Vegeta line had become. For his son. And his wife...  
  
"Bulma," he murmured. The woman had a hold on him, that much was for certain but he couldn't deny the truth that his life had improved as a result. He was now a wealthy man in his own right, associated with this planet's most influential businesswoman. The wealth and power that the Briefs wielded made them equal to any royalty in the universe. Being extremely conscious of class and social status, Vegeta concluded that the sole reason Bulma was allowed a place in his dark heart was simply because: She was WORTHY.  
  
She was also one hell of an exciting piece of ass, which was why he was currently hiding in this filthy ditch. The traffic still hadn't moved and neither had his throbbing manhood. Out of desperation, he unzipped his fly and it took scarcely two pumps before he ejaculated into the dirt. It was a waste but at least he could walk among civilians again and not look like a circus freak. It took the edge off of his anxiety too, if only until he got into the jeep again. Zipping himself back up, he climbed up to the highway and decided to isolate the cause of the traffic jam.  
  
A half a kilometer away, a 22-wheeler had jack-knifed to avoid a fender bender and overturned, completely blocking traffic on both sides. Both news and police helicopters were hovering over the scene, while a crew of police and fire fighters mingled uselessly around, trying to figure out what to do.  
  
"Hey," Vegeta said, materializing behind one chubby cop. "What's the hold up?"  
  
The officer gave him a startled double take. Curious onlookers were told to stand several meters away behind the accident tape and orange pylons. How the hell had this guy slipped through without anybody noticing? "You're not allowed to be here-"  
  
"Don't you tell me what I'm allowed to do. Get that piece of shit off the road."  
  
Rolling his eyes, the cop shook his head in dismay. There always had to be at least one asshole in every crowd and this day seemed to be no exception. "We called for a crane to be flown in. It'll take about two hours to get here."  
  
"I can't wait that long! Move it now!"  
  
"How?" The cop decided to humor him. "What do you expect me to do? Pick it up myself?"  
  
"Not you, lardass," Vegeta growled and stomped over to where the rig and its overloaded box were lying on its side. Still wearing that tolerant expression on his wide face, the chubby cop waved away his buddies who were moving in to intercept him. "Ah, let him take a look. Maybe it'll shut him up," he told his partner in a smug tone.  
  
It took perhaps Vegeta all of a few seconds to see what needed to be done. He called over to the large officer, "Where do you want me to move it?"  
  
"Is this guy for real?" his partner chuckled.  
  
"What is he, five feet tall?" commented another. "Hell, my ten year old kid is bigger than him."  
  
"Oh, this is rich," the fat cop said. He gestured to the left of the highway and instructed, "Throw it as far away as you can! Right over into that field! Ah heck, why not into the next state while you're at it?"  
  
Everyone was starting to laugh and Vegeta's earlier agitation returned with a vengeance. "You've got it," he snarled through clenched teeth. He sank his fingers into the heavy steel to get a firm grip and flung the entire tractor-trailer into the sky as hard as he could. The massive rig went flying end-over-end and quickly disappeared out of sight. Not long after that, a small mushroom cloud appeared on the horizon where the unfortunate vehicle finally impacted with the ground.  
  
Nobody was laughing anymore. Vegeta sauntered over to the where the fat cop was still pointing at the side of the road. Slapping him on one round cheek to get his attention, the Saiyan said, "I just did your job now go do yours. Get this traffic moving!"  
  
The gathered crowd of witnesses were applauding and cheering but when the helicopters started to swing around, Vegeta decided that it was time to make himself scarce. He fazed out of sight with that uncanny speed of his, leaving the stunned cops and firefighters to stare at the skid marks on the asphalt that was the only sign anything had ever been there.  
  
"So... uh, how're we gonna explain this one, Ralph?" the chubby cop's partner finally spoke up.  
  
Ralph could only offer a mute one-armed shrug.  
  
"What did you do?" Bulma asked when Vegeta appeared beside the jeep and climbed back into the driver's seat. Everyone else had left their own vehicles and were standing on the side of the road watching the fading tendrils of smoke from the distant explosion.  
  
"If it gets us moving, who cares?" he countered.  
  
"I care. You promised that you'd keep a low profile."  
  
"No, what I promised was that I wouldn't blow up anymore cities- At least not until we wish back the one I already erased. That's the whole point of this ridiculous trip."  
  
Bulma backed down and shelved the criticism for the time being. The Saiyan was a little calmer than when he had left and she didn't want to provoke him. "Thank you," she said instead.  
  
He looked at her warily, expecting her usual sarcasm but she only added, "For speeding up the wait. The sooner we check-in at the hotel the better."  
  
It was the right thing to say. Vegeta's eyes narrowed into a mischievous squint and he smirked at her. It was the first time he had smiled since that morning. "Got that right," he said in a husky purr, giving her body a thorough look from ankle to neck and back down again. Running his tongue slowly along his teeth, he finally assured her, "By the time I'm through with you, you won't even be able to remember your own name."  
  
"... oh," she breathed, feeling the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck prickle and rise. When he looked at her like that, it always excited her. She had always been attracted to danger and here was the living embodiment of it, sitting barely two feet away.  
  
Leaning towards him eagerly, her pursed lips invited his mouth, and Vegeta accepted the offer without hesitation. Their kiss was a long and industrious fusing of lips and tongues, their teeth scraping lightly as they sought an even closer contact in the confined space. Bulma cupped his groin and kneaded her fingers into the denim and he responded by sliding one free hand slowly up her inner thigh. She moaned her encouragement to that touch, spreading her legs. Her panties were already damp and her clitoris was vibrating with exquisite tremors. One stroke of his finger and she would go off like a rocket. Almost there... so close... oh! That's it! Right there! Touch me right-  
  
An air horn blasted off beside them and the pair jumped in shock. They looked around, dazed, and noticed for the first time that the traffic was finally moving.  
  
"Of all the piss-poor timing," Bulma grumbled under her breath while Vegeta fumbled with the keys and got the jeep started. Struggling with his composure, the Saiyan almost ripped out the gearshift as he rammed it into first and got them moving. All that little make-out session accomplished was make them both hot and bothered and his erection was back, harder than ever. He was tempted to just encapsulate the jeep and fly them quickly to their next destination but Bulma insisted that they search for the damned balls 'the old fashioned way'. Whatever the hell that meant. All that he knew for certain was that if he upset her now, he might as well go back to whacking off in the ditch. "How long?"  
  
She knew what he meant. "We should be at the hotel in four hours."  
  
Gunning the engine he promised her, "We'll be there in three."  
  
They traveled along the coastline, heading east on a busy stretch of road that was clogged with tourists, cyclists, and other slow-moving sightseers. Vegeta wove the jeep in and out of the traffic like he was in a race against time (and in some ways he was- Bulma's smell of arousal was starting to affect him again). He passed on double-lines, around blind curves, and more than once darted around vehicles using the right-hand shoulder, spraying gravel as the jeep's large tires spun for purchase. Buckled into her seat, Bulma was screaming with each dangerous maneuver but it wasn't out of fear. She had always been a speed junky and thrived on taking risks. Vegeta wasn't doing anything that she hadn't done in her own car. If anything, he was actually more cautious. "Oh- This is GREAT! WHEEE!"  
  
"Woman, you are insane," Vegeta told her but he was having as much fun as she was. Forcing her eyes away from the swiftly passing sights, Bulma took the opportunity to give him a thorough, loving appraisal. It had taken some time for his system to shake the after-affects of Frieza's poison but he appeared to have finally made a full recovery. He had gained back all of his weight and his muscle tone was once more the epitome of physical perfection. The only thing that was any reminder of that terrible time was that his hair still wasn't its unruly length that he favored. Privately, Bulma liked the way it looked and the way that it seemed to ease the harshness of his features. At least he no longer tried to hide it under a baseball cap anymore. "I love you, Vegeta."  
  
"Uh huh," he muttered, but passed her an endearing little smirk that made her giggle in delight. That moment lasted until a state trooper drove by and immediately did a U-turn to begin pursuit.  
  
"Uh oh," the pair mouthed together, sharing one comical look. Then Vegeta put his foot on the gas pedal all the way to the floor and seriously began darting in an out of the heavy traffic as the cruiser steadily closed in. This time when Bulma screamed, it wasn't out of excitement but pure terror.  
  
"What do you think you're doing? Pull over!" Bulma shouted, gripping the sides of her seat with panicky fingers. "You can't outrun that police car. What's a little ticket for speeding?"  
  
"Hnh. Look in the glove compartment."  
  
She pressed the latch and an explosion of papers burst out of the small space, snatched by the wind. She snagged a handful and saw that the majority of them were old speeding tickets from the time he had been living in Pitch. There were also more recent tickets from his driving in the Western Capital. "Parking tickets. That's not surprising- I have a few of them myself but... 'Verbally harassing a police officer'," Bulma was reading a few of the others she found, "'Failure to yield', 'Running a stop light', 'Hitting a pedestrian'? Vegeta, you hit someone with the jeep?"  
  
"I just nudged his ass with the bumper. The old geezer wasn't moving fast enough."  
  
"Oh crap." She slammed the compartment closed and tried to come up with a solution. She was drawing a rare blank. "Vegeta, this is getting serious! Why didn't you tell me before we drove off?"  
  
"I didn't think it was important. The tickets aren't in my name," he told her with surprising calm in his voice. She took another look at one of the scraps that had fluttered to the floor and sure enough, it had the name of the dead soldier whose identity Vegeta had adopted for a short time.  
  
"Not important? They're going to haul your ass into jail when they catch you!"  
  
Vegeta released an amused chuckle. "That'll never happen. Hold on."  
  
"Why? What are you-" She released a squeal as the Saiyan cut across the front of a car he had been passing and headed straight for the guardrail. Beyond that flimsy barricade was a sheer cliff that dropped about eighty feet into pounding ocean surf and Vegeta was heading straight for it. "You're crazy!"  
  
"You wouldn't have me any other way," he said with a broad grin and smashed through the wood at top speed. They disappeared over the cliff edge in a spray of shattered wood, gravel, and one resounding shriek that was actually louder than the police cruiser siren. When the state trooper slammed on the brakes and ran over to the edge, there was no sign of the suicidal couple. He ran back to his car to call for Search and Rescue.  
  
Out of sight around the bluff, Vegeta had easily deposited the jeep back onto the road and was currently inspecting it for damage. Seated in the passenger seat, Bulma was trying to drink from a water bottle and it took both of her hands to steady it enough to get the lip of the container to her mouth. "Th-that... was... nuts."  
  
"Bah. We got away, that's all that matters," he said, frowning at what he discovered. The bumper was dented, which wasn't a big deal but a large chunk of guardrail had gone through the front grill and perforated the radiator. "Shit," he said in disgust, watching the radiator fluid pour to the ground in a heavy cloud of steam.  
  
"Well, that puts this vehicle out of commission," Bulma said as she came up beside him.  
  
"Can't you fix it?"  
  
"What-? I don't have any parts of this out-dated piece of junk-"  
  
"Watch it!" he warned her. "I happen to like this 'out-dated piece of junk'. It has character, not like those brightly colored, hover-car abominations everyone drives. I've spent a lot of time in this jeep. It's mine."  
  
She gave him a startled glance at the rare admission. Aside from the gravity simulator, there weren't many other things that Vegeta really thought of as a valued possession. There was very little that she knew about what he had gone through when he had moved to Pitch. Too sick to fly, he'd had to learn how to operate this vehicle in order to drive across the country and come to Trunks aid. She imagined that as he drove that lonely distance, he had spent many long hours thinking in this very jeep. "We'll encapsulate it for now," she said in a softer voice. "I'll fix it when we get back home."  
  
"Can you?"  
  
"I think so, yes."  
  
He nodded once and stepped around to the back bumper and pressed the switch beneath the left brake light. In a cloud of smoke, the battered jeep disappeared, instantly condensed into a small capsule that he picked up and put in his back pocket. "I'll fly us the rest of the way."  
  
Bulma had been rummaging through her purse for her own car capsule. "I told you before; there will be no cheating on this trip," she said in a hard voice as she pulled it out. "We're using Earth vehicles, no ki."  
  
"!!AAGHHH!!" Vegeta stormed a short distance away, grappled unsuccessfully with his rage, and angrily came stomping back. "What is it with this stupid obsession of yours? If we did things my way, we could gather the stupid Dragonballs in a couple of days. Why do you want to drag out this torture?"  
  
"Torture?" she asked in a wounded voice. "You're calling our honeymoon 'torture'? HOW DARE YOU! I took two weeks off from work- time that I really can't spare from the company- just so that we could spend this time together. You should be flattered."  
  
He snorted. "Why?"  
  
Rolling her eyes, she continued, "Because I want this time with you with no distractions: No damned gravity simulator training, no battle on the horizon, no life-threatening illness. For the very first time, we're together as husband and wife. I don't think you've absorbed the significance of that commitment, Vegeta. Things are no longer the way they were. We're a part of each other's lives from this day on." She paused for a moment to compose her thoughts and then yelled at him: "So we ARE going to take the ENTIRE two weeks to hunt for the Dragonballs whether you LIKE it or NOT!"  
  
His face flushed alarmingly and she knew she had gone to far when that telltale vein popped out on his temple. For one long moment, the pair glared at one another and of the two, it was Bulma who finally dropped her eyes first. "I-I knew it was too much to ask-"  
  
"Oh, stop your whining and pop the damn capsule already. We're wasting time," he snarled.  
  
She gave one startled blink and broke out into a hopeful smile. "You-you mean...?"  
  
"We'll do things your way," he said and dropped his voice to a low growl as he added, "For now."  
  
"Oh, thank you, Vegeta!" she cried happily, depressing the switch and throwing the capsule over her shoulder as she continued to gush; "You won't regret it. We're going to have a wonderful adventure together. It'll be just like the old days when I was a teenager and set out on my own to search for the Dragonballs the very first time. That was when I first met G- "  
  
"What." he interrupted her. "The fuck. Is that?" He was pointing to the vehicle that had materialized behind her.  
  
Bulma whirled and was shocked not to see her souped-up sports car. In its place was a small, pink moped with flowers painted on the front fender and a little wire basket perched between the handlebars. "That's Daisy. Mom uses her for local errands."  
  
"What the hell are you doing with that thing?"  
  
She looked into her purse in confusion. "I must have grabbed the wrong capsule before we left. Everything was so hectic I didn't think to stop to check. My spare capsule packet is packed away with the rest of my luggage."  
  
"Well, you better unpack it. I'm not getting on that," he said harshly. He had never wished for a brightly colored, hover-car abomination so much in his entire life.  
  
She looked him in frustration. "I packed enough clothes, gear, and accessories for two weeks. Do you have any idea how long that will take to sort through?"  
  
"I'm prepared to wait."  
  
"Well, I'm not," she sniffed and hiked up her dress and straddled the seat of the moped. She might have relented and searched though her belongings for the packet until the Saiyan copped the attitude. Now it was a battle of wills. She picked up the helmet lying in the basket and put it on, then turned the key to the ignition. Daisy's tiny engine sounded like a cross between a sewing machine and a weed eater. "Get on, Vegeta. We'll be in Carterville in less than an hour."  
  
Vegeta wasn't moving. He shook his head once. "Not a chance."  
  
"Fine. I'll meet you there!" she yelled back and sped off in a cloud of blue smoke accompanied by one loud backfire of protest. After about twenty meters down the road, she slowed and looked back. She wasn't surprised to see that the Saiyan was gone.  
  
"Stubborn ass," she grumbled, pulling onto the road again and coaxing the moped up to it's top speed (which was about 60 kilometers an hour). Daisy shuddered, backfired, and wearily accelerated but the little engine sounded like it was sobbing. Ignoring this, Bulma kept her eyes on the road, which was starting to blur through a veil of bitter tears. This was supposed to be her special day, dammit! Nothing was going right! She wiped her eyes with a curse and squeezed the handlebars in a deathgrip. How DARE Vegeta abandon her like this? When she saw him again-  
  
Dropping out of the sky, Vegeta landed squarely in place behind her causing Daisy to pop a wheelie. It took all of Bulma's driving ability to get the front tire back down before they were thrown onto the road. "Dammit, Vegeta! You could give a little warning the next time you do that."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"I thought that you were too macho to be seen on this thing," she snapped over her left shoulder. "What changed your mind?"  
  
There was a sly look on his face that immediately placed her on guard. "Male prerogative. I considered the benefits."  
  
"Oh yeah? And what are those?"  
  
He gave no answer but his arms encircled her and his hands immediately cupped her breasts- and showed no sign of releasing them anytime soon.  
  
"Vegeta- let go. Those aren't airbags!" she cried indignantly.  
  
His lips fastened on the soft skin of her neck before he nibbled playfully on her earlobe. "I would suggest," he rasped into her ear as he began rubbing himself against her, "that you get this piece of junk up to its top speed."  
  
She could feel his erection pressing into the small of her back and her nipples hardened beneath his squeezing hands. "O-okay," she agreed and twisted the accelerator. Daisy backfired again and made a sound like a wheezing cough, but she wearily obeyed. Scarcely able to focus on the road as Vegeta fondled her body, Bulma noticed for the first time that the fuel gauge was close to empty. "Oh mom..." she sighed.  
  
"What's wrong now?"  
  
"We're almost out of gas. I'll have to pull in at the next service station."  
  
"Yes, of course you will..." she heard him grumble behind her and she was almost disappointed when he dropped his hands. On such a heavily traveled road, it wasn't long before a gas station came into sight and Bulma steered towards one of the pumps. Vegeta jumped off before they had reached a full stop and immediately headed for the Men's restroom. She didn't bother calling out to him and embarrass him further, knowing where he was going and why. She was giggling when she picked up the nozzle and filled up the tank.  
  
He rejoined her just as she was paying the attendant. "That was quick."  
  
Scowling, he snarled, "You don't say that to a man. Ever."  
  
"Oh, I was just kidding," she said, kissing him. He didn't respond to the gesture and she knew from experience that her apology was definitely NOT accepted. She was going to suggest that they go inside the adjoining restaurant and grab an early supper when a man pulled up beside of them, gunning the engine. Leaning out of the window of his large truck, he sneered, "Hey, that's one hell of a chopper that you've got there, fella! Wanna drag race?"  
  
"Get lost," Bulma shouted back.  
  
"Why don't you ditch the runt, sweetheart? Let a real man take you for a ride!" He sped off in a squeal of tires, doing a donut in front of them and dangerously coming close to hitting Daisy. As he sped away Vegeta released a snarl and before Bulma could stop him, the Saiyan flicked a destructo disk the size of a dime from his right hand. It flew up into the air intake pipe of the truck and promptly exploded in the gas tank. Both doors flew off of the vehicle, and the engine was immediately reduced to smoldering slag. It skidded along the pavement in a shower of sparks before slowing to a halt several meters away.  
  
Still gripping the steering wheel, the driver found himself sitting in a cloud of smoke. "What the hell-?" he asked in disbelief.  
  
"Two times in less than a day. Sonsabitches." Vegeta was positively frothing in his rage and started across the parking lot to finish what he had started.  
  
Bulma ran in front of him. "It's okay. No harm was done. Leave him alone, Vegeta."  
  
"I'm sick and tired of the fucking short jokes!" he yelled at her. "I was never meant to be this size. It's not my fault!"  
  
She was completely taken aback by the outburst. "Wha-what are you talking about? I've never said anything-"  
  
"Not you." He was glaring daggers at the driver who was wandering around his demolished truck like a man stuck in a bad dream. People were starting to wander over and ask the flustered man what had happened. "Them. No better than fodder for a Galactic Gun. All of them. It would be so easy..." His right hand clenched into a tight fist and began glowing an ominous blue.  
  
Gooseflesh broke out on both of her arms. She hated it when he spouted that doomsday talk and had never realized that he was so sensitive about his height. It wasn't something that he had ever betrayed before. She catalogued the incident to be thoroughly analyzed later, when there wasn't the threat of a body count looming on the horizon. "They're not worth it. This is our wedding day. Don't spoil it for me, Vegeta. Please? Let's just get going."  
  
Vegeta showed no sign of budging. He continued to glare at the driver with concentrated hatred. It seemed to be a long time before he finally dropped his black gaze to hers. Bulma's blue eyes were wide with entreaty and it took some visible effort for him to finally turn his back on the growing crowd. "You just saved their lives," he coldly informed her and marched back to Daisy.  
  
Lingering back, Bulma cast a quick glance at the innocent people and forced down a tremor of momentary fear. Had she thought that she actually had control over Vegeta? It was a flimsy tether at best and almost useless when he was provoked, as she was quickly discovering. She was almost tempted to just relent and let him search for the Dragonballs his way.  
  
"No," she said to herself. When she looked back, she saw that Vegeta was back sitting on Daisy without argument. That simple action spoke volumes to her. I can't force him to do anything he doesn't want to. Nobody could, she realized. He's here because he wants to be. He's enduring these constant setbacks because he wants to stay near me. Am I really going to give up on that rare opportunity? "No," she said again. "I'm not giving up. I love him. He's my... husband," that last word suffused her with fresh hope and strengthened her resolve.  
  
As she returned to the moped to continue their journey into Carterville, there was a distinct trill from her purse.  
  
"I thought you shut off your phone," Vegeta said peevishly. Bulma's mother had started calling them practically the minute they had left Capsule Corp. and Bulma had turned it off to give them some peace.  
  
"That's not my cellphone, it's the Dragonball radar," she said as she pulled it out and read the dial. Her eyes widened in alarm. "The Dragonball I'd located- It... it's moving."  
  
"What?"  
  
"The reason I chose Carterville first was because that was where the closest Dragonball lied. I figured that we could go to our hotel room and collect it at our leisure when we were... y'know, through," she blushed. "Now, though, it's moving out of the city limits."  
  
"So what?" Vegeta said in a bored tone of voice. "As a single unit it's no good to anyone and they're almost impossible to destroy. Let's just get to the hotel. We'll track it down tomorrow," his previous pout dissolved into a lopsided-smirk, "Or the day after that."  
  
"Aren't you even curious about who has it or why?"  
  
"No," came the predictable answer. "I'm more curious about what you've got on under that dress. Or more importantly, what you haven't."  
  
"Vegeta!" She crossed her arms deliberately over her breasts as his eyes roved eagerly over them. "I won't be able to relax knowing someone else might have their grubby hands on that Dragonball. We have to track it down right now."  
  
Vegeta's face darkened with the appearance of this new roadblock. His mind immediately translated 'won't be able to relax' correctly into 'won't spread my legs'. His nerves were worn raw from all of these cockteasing delays and the hand-to-gland sessions were only making things worse. He was starting to wonder if she really did want him to screw her or if this was all just a convenient act to delay their coupling.  
  
"How about it, Vegeta?" she prompted when his usual silence stretched on. "Are we still a team?"  
  
This bullshit has to be some sort of twisted test, he brooded. He was no stranger to them; Frieza and his goons had always been trying to find some new way to get him to screw up. Some had evaluated his endurance, while others had measured his skills. The ones requiring patience had been the absolute worst and that looked to be what he was currently stuck in. It had to be another part of the ceremony to gauge if he was truly worthy of her.  
  
"...Vegeta?" a note of worry crept into her voice.  
  
His shoulders slumped. He knew that he was a living magnet for bad luck, but this day just had to be the worst in recent memory. "Yes, woman. We're a... team."  
  
Whooping in happiness, she hopped onto Daisy like she was jumping on the back of a bronco. "I love you, Vegeta!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah," he said unconvincingly.  
  
"Always the tough guy," she sighed, fastening on her helmet. As she turned the ignition, she cried out: "Giddy-up Daisy!"  
  
Daisy responded with a backfire loud enough to turn heads. The pair sped away in a cloud of blue smoke and pulled back onto the road. As Bulma coaxed the little moped up to its full speed, she was wondering if Vegeta was seriously angry with her. Just as she was about to pull over and ask him, his hands came around her and grabbed her breasts again. This time she didn't try to pull them off.  
  
As they closed in on Carterville, Vegeta took the opportunity to absorb the sights, which wasn't something he usually did. Conquering planets had been a means to an end and evaluating the aesthetics of the surroundings had been considered frivolous. As near as he could tell, Earth seemed to be a complex world of varying climates and landmarks that seemed to change with alarming regularity. He had never been on any world long enough to experience the steady progression of seasons and his recollections of Vegetasei were, sadly, quite poor. Even after his extended time on this world, he was beginning to realize that he had hardly scratched the surface in witnessing all that the planet had to offer.  
  
Two weeks, he thought, nuzzling the back of Bulma's neck and relishing her scent. Maybe it won't be so bad-  
  
Daisy hit a pothole and wobbled before Bulma got the steering under control.  
  
... then again...  
  
"We're almost near it," Bulma called to him. She had the Dragonball radar perched in the basket and was dividing her concentration between it and the road. "Be on your guard and keep your eyes peeled."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"It could be anything!" she said with rising excitement. "It could be a giant, or a fierce dragon trying to take the Dragonball back to its nest. It could be a troop of Red Ribbon soldiers or some more androids, or-"  
  
"-Or it could be a pair of rednecks in a pick-up truck," she heard Vegeta comment. Sure enough, a battered old truck passed them and in the back, perched on top of a pile of old scavenged parts and junk, was the four-star Dragonball.  
  
"Oh," Bulma said in disappointment.  
  
"Glad I came along," Vegeta snickered from behind her. "You're going to need me to defend you against those evil villains."  
  
Purposely ignoring him, Bulma waved frantically as she tried to attract the driver's attention but it was no use. The truck was gradually pulling ahead. "They don't see me!"  
  
"You are pathetic," Vegeta sighed and flicked another disk from his fingers. Fortunately this one was weak and only blew out the vehicle's back left tire. Lurching out of control for a few seconds, the driver quickly slowed down and managed to get it safely over to the side of the road. The pair got out and inspected the flat as Bulma pulled up behind them. "Are you guys alright?" she called out.  
  
The driver, an old pot-bellied farmer in rubber boots, was scratching his head. "I dunno what we hit. The blasted tires are almost brand new. But yeah, we're okay."  
  
Bulma cast a sullen glare at Vegeta who continued his self-righteous smirking. "I'll handle this."  
  
"Call me if you need back-up," he said and started chuckling to himself when she slammed the helmet into the basket in frustration.  
  
She fluffed up her hair and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress and, after a quick check in the moped's mirror to ensure that her make-up wasn't smeared, walked slowly over to the befuddled pair. Vegeta knew what the outcome was going to be even before the farmer gave Bulma the Dragonball with no questions asked. The dress she was wearing left little to the imagination and when she put her mind to it, no man could resist her.  
  
Including me, Vegeta reluctantly admitted. When she came strutting back holding her prize, he found it hard to ignore the depth of his feelings for her. They went beyond mere lust and entered into realms that he didn't know he even possessed. Trust. Admiration. Even affection. Perhaps struggling amidst the shadows of his heart was even that elusive L-word she liked to use so often.  
  
Before he could betray too much of his thoughts, he clapped slowly three times. "Bravo," he said flatly.  
  
"See? There's still wonderful people on this world. I offered them money and they wouldn't take a dime."  
  
Vegeta suspected that her near see-through dress and excited jiggling had been more than enough payment for the Dragonball. Still, he couldn't deny the end result; it was in her possession and she was happy. It was more than he could have hoped for with the way things were going lately. "We're going to the hotel." It was not a question.  
  
"Yes, we're going straight to the hotel," she said when she secured the Dragonball in the basket. She hopped on the moped to face him and grabbed a handful of his tank top, pulling him towards her. "I can hardly wait to be alone with you," her words gusted warmly against his face. "I am going to kiss you, taste you, and ride you. We're going to make love all night long." Her lips closed over his and she kissed him, doing a slow and thorough job of it. When they finally parted, she nibbled playfully on his bottom lip. "What do you think of that, lover?"  
  
"I think maybe we should have gone for the stupid Dragonball first," he said honestly. This sudden aggressiveness on her part was entirely unexpected and a definite turn-on. He had never seen her like this before; exhilarated, wanton, carefree. Away from Capsule Corporation, she became a completely different person who thrived on adventure and reveled in action. He was relieved to have endured the test long enough to see this side of her. It made all of the frustrations worth it.  
  
Well... almost.  
  
Turning in her seat, Bulma wasted no time starting Daisy and speeding them towards their ultimate goal; The Majestic Regency Hotel in Carterville. It was a turn-of-century landmark that was one of the city's oldest, most influential resorts and lied on a jutting bluff that presented an unrivaled view of the ocean. Bulma had reserved the Honeymoon suite weeks in advance and had done it under a false name to ensure that reporters not catch wind of her appearance and ruin their peace. She wanted to travel in relative anonymity- partially because she loathed the media, and also to spare Vegeta the additional stress of dealing with obnoxious newshounds. In the few times that they had been seen in the Capital together, there had always been some shutterbug snapping their picture. As ever, there was a question mark beside Vegeta's face when the picture ran the next day in the society pages. Gossip was almost as important a commodity as wealth in Bulma's elite circle and the Saiyan was a hot topic. She wanted to keep him all to herself for as long as she could.  
  
Vegeta didn't pay much attention to the checking-in process as Bulma made small talk with the manager who presented her with the pass-card to their room. He allowed himself to be mesmerized by the way her body moved and had tuned out all other distractions with his usual single-minded tenacity. There were going to be no more distractions that were going to sway him from his intended goal. He was prepared to plunder her ripe body right here in the lobby if he had too, in full view of the staff and guests. He had waited far too long.  
  
As if sharing his impatience, Bulma grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the waiting elevator. As soon as the doors closed, she melted against him with a grateful sigh while his hands slid down her sides and pulled up the dress to her waist. She wriggled her tongue between his teeth as her hand sought the prominent outline of his erection, squeezing and rolling the throbbing shaft through the material of his jeans. Neither had the clarity of mind to hit the stop button and when the doors opened on their floor, they were blissfully ignorant with their mutual fondling until someone released a subdued cough.  
  
An elderly couple was standing in the corridor, patiently waiting to enter and the ardent newlyweds parted reluctantly. "Sorry," Bulma offered as she pulled down her dress. She carefully positioned herself between them and Vegeta as they left the elevator. "We just got married today."  
  
"Congratulations!" the woman beamed while her husband said smoothly, "No apologies are necessary, dear. We couldn't wait for a bed on our wedding night either."  
  
"Harold!" the old woman squawked in horror.  
  
"Well... it's true, isn't it? Remember that park bench-" the elevator doors mercifully closed on the rest of the exchange. Casting one another a perplexed glance, Bulma burst out laughing and led them down the corridor to their suite.  
  
"You have to carry me across the threshold," she said after she unlocked the door and pushed it open. "It's tradition."  
  
"Whatever," he said impatiently, too agitated to even waste precious seconds for a debate. He scooped her up effortlessly and charged through the door, kicking it closed after they entered.  
  
When he set her down, Bulma immediately dropped to her knees before him, fingers working the zipper to his jeans down and extracting his engorged shaft.  
  
Vegeta leaned back against the closed door, staring down at the column of hardened flesh that reared outward from his open fly. Its satin knob was aimed at the moist red lips of the sea-foam haired beauty as she opened her mouth to claim him. Her slippery tongue began its worshipful dance about the sensitive glans, circling and swirling as she worked her lips up and down the thick roll.  
  
It was impossible to resist the savage suction applied by her straining cheeks. Bulma knew that he was close to climax when she felt his lance swell and shudder inside her sucking mouth.  
  
When Vegeta came, he gave only a faint grunt, and his thick essence flooded her throat. She moaned under the onslaught, using her lips to milk the throbbing meat, her tongue licking eagerly across the slitted tip to gather the last delicious drop of his seminal offering. "I have kissed you and tasted you," she said, planting a kiss on the still-hard shaft before she got back to her feet. "Now I intend to ride you, as promised."  
  
Before Bulma, Vegeta had never allowed a woman to assume the dominant position during sex and be on top. Over the months as their relationship developed, he now found that he actually enjoyed it. During the act, as she straddled his hips and set their pace, he liked to imagine that this would be a position that a Saiyan woman would try to assume. He didn't know for sure, and never would, but Bulma's disposition and swift temper rivaled any Saiyan he had ever known and made the fantasy that much more believable.  
  
As they moved towards the large bedroom suite, there was a knock on the door. "Complimentary champagne, courtesy of the Majestic Regency," a voice called out.  
  
"We'll get it later," Bulma was almost panting. "Damn it! I told the front desk no interruptions."  
  
"Ignore it," Vegeta encouraged, kicking his shoes off. He unfastened the button to his jeans and slid them down his lean hips to pull them off. He pulled his top up over his head and faced her, completely nude. Bulma's gaze roved hungrily over the powerful muscles of his chest, arms, and thighs. The part that made him an individual was the thick length of manhood that arched upward from the base of his slabbed stomach.  
  
"Vegeta..." she murmured, urgently pressing her body against him. "I love you so much."  
  
"I know. You tell me that every ten minutes," he said, unbuttoning the straps to her dress and letting it puddle down around her ankles. All that was between them now was a delicate little thong. Once he removed that irritating scrap of fabric, they could finally experience paradise.  
  
"I say it so often because I want you to understand," she said, sighing as his fingers stroked the tingling nipples of her heaving breasts. "You're now the only man in my life. The only person who I'll ever make love to."  
  
"I damn well hope so!"  
  
"But it goes two ways. Do you understand that?"  
  
He stared back at her, matching her earnest expression. She was speaking about commitment and monogamy and trying to find a delicate way to ask if he would honor that obligation. "I swore to an oath and I'm a man of my word. 'For richer or poorer- In sickness and in health'. Bulma Briefs, you are mine."  
  
"And you're mine, Prince Vegeta," she whispered.  
  
"'Until death do us part'," he promised and kissed her.  
  
********************************************************  
  
Chapter Two: The newlywed's meet up with some old... friends as the search for the Dragonballs continues. 


	3. Passion and Pride

A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON © 2003 Darke Angelus Chapter Two ~ PASSION and PRIDE  
  
... it had all been a dream ...  
  
Jerking awake with a gasp, Bulma sat straight up in her bed. She cast the room a frantic glance, seeing only indistinguishable shapes in the murky darkness of pre-dawn. She... she was back in her room at Capsule Corporation. Everything had just been a dream: Vegeta's 'proposal', the months before the wedding, and finally the wedding itself. None of it had ever happened-  
  
"N-no," she whimpered. Groping round blindly in the dark, her panicked fingers hit the lamp on the nightstand and knocked it over with a heavy thump.  
  
There was a low grumble directly beside her and she jerked away with a tiny yelp of shock. It took some time for her mind to shake the after affects of her dream (screw that- NIGHTMARE!) and when she righted the lamp and turned it on, she was relieved to see that she was right where she was supposed to be: the honeymoon suite of the Majestic Regency Hotel. And she wasn't alone.  
  
Lying on his right side facing her, Vegeta slumbered on, oblivious to her little bout of panic. Half of his face was buried into the pillow and his left hand was lying loosely near his chin. The sight of that wedding band on his finger dissuaded the last of any residual doubt and Bulma finally settled back down.  
  
I love him so much, Bulma thought, snuggling close against Vegeta's warm body and letting her teasing fingers trail lazy circles over the smooth tanned skin at his side. Her touch eventually reached his slender hip and frolicked there for a timeless moment while she deliberated whether to wake him from his sound sleep or to remain cuddled warmly next to him.  
  
She brought her lips forward and lightly kissed his smooth brow and brushed an errant strand of hair back from his forehead with a delicate finger. It was mystifying the intensity of emotions that he evoked in her. Her extended relationship with Yamcha had its up and downs but nothing to equal the passions that Vegeta effortlessly stirred. Her breathing began to speed up despite her mind telling her to remain calm next to him, to let him rest after his hectic pace of the night before.  
  
Her breasts tingled with hedonistic expectation when he suddenly stirred, burrowing his head further into her soft bosom. She could feel his breathing on her sensitive aureolas, puckering them erect with trembling anticipation. Her fully awake and yearning womanhood throbbed out a primitive message to her whirling brain, clamoring incessantly at the closeness of this naked man beside her. Following the summons from her fiery center, she let her gentle fingers travel to the wide base of his shaft, finally gripping the delightful hanging member, hefting the smooth length in her small palm with almost ceremonial rite.  
  
Vegeta came awake slowly, adjusting his fuzzy mind to the pleasurable warmth of her body next to his and the slow, sensual stroking of his rod. He inhaled her heady scent as he moved further into the soft, yielding flesh of her bosom.  
  
"Uhmm... Ready for more already?" he murmured, bringing a hand to a weighty breast and directing the hard little nipple into his mouth.  
  
"Only if you're up for it," she giggled; glad he was awake and feeling life surge into his powerful tool. "How did you sleep?"  
  
"Fine." He moved his hand to her thigh then back up to her hip and over her smooth, taut belly. He let his fingers dally in the furry pelt at the apex of her womanhood, feeling her pouting softness warm to his gentle touch. Bulma spread her legs in delight at the feel of his teasing fingers, letting him arouse her desire to a fever pitch as he suckled at her breasts with tender lips.  
  
"And just what you intend to do with this big thing?" she asked cutely, trying to keep her voice steady as she squeezed and stroked his now-hard member.  
  
"I'll show you what I'm going to do with it!" he growled playfully, rolling her onto her back and lying between her wide, welcoming thighs. He marveled at the sight of her flushed, excited features as he held himself up by his elbows and admired her softly contoured breasts. "What a sight to wake up to," he murmured, plucking a ripe nipple into his mouth and laving the erect nub with his tongue for a brief moment, then doing the other in the same fashion; mouthing it softly between his lips as he whipped it to a growing hotness.  
  
"Oh God, I'm ready," she breathed, placing her hands at his sides and urging him forward.  
  
"Impatient, aren't you? I haven't even kissed you good morning yet," he smirked.  
  
She darted her tongue urgently across her lips and prepared to meet his mouth with an eager passion. Instead of moving forward, Vegeta continued to smile down at her, not moving, looking into her expectant eyes for long seconds. Instead of meeting her mouth in lustful union, he suddenly pulled up her knees and held them firmly against her breasts. The act left her wide open to his greedy, hungry eyes and he studied her glistening pink labia with solemn authority.  
  
"Vegeta!" Bulma gasped incredulously, her suddenly exposed clitoris throbbing wildly in this vulnerable position. With a sound like a chuckle, he was full on her in a frightful, unexpected rush- pressing his face hard against her flaming center.  
  
"Oh my God!" she wailed, feeling his lips capture her hard clit and stabbing it with a rapid frenzy with his stiff tongue. She squirmed wildly for more, moving and twisting in erotic rapture. He nuzzled hard against her quivering nub, knocking it from side to side, and then darted his hot tongue deep into her moist folds.  
  
Vegeta mouthed her for a few moments longer, then reared back on his knees and made an elaborate show of dragging his forearm across his mouth. "There! Now that," he boasted, "is a Saiyan's idea of a morning kiss!"  
  
"Ohhh... Wow," she panted wonderingly. "You can kiss me like that every morning!"  
  
"I just might," he said in a smug voice as he mounted her. Nudging the broad head of his erection against the pouting lips of her entrance, he began sliding the tip up and down the heavenly slit, deliberately teasing her. She dug her fingernails into his back in response and he continued to move slowly over her. Easing in just the knob of his manhood, he cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look directly up into his eyes. "Do you want it?"  
  
"Of course I want it," she panted. "I want all of you inside me. As much as you can give."  
  
It was what he wanted to hear. He lowered his head and kissed her, darting his tongue between her moist lips as he slid his member all the way into her quivering furnace with one, unending stroke. Slowly, relishing each minute ripple of her velvet sheath, he began to piston in and out of that tight warmth. This was against all the dictates of his unique breeding; to be gentle, to take his time, to actually care for another's pleasure before his own. Before Bulma, he never would have bothered about anything, save his own quick release. More times than not, he wouldn't have even bothered to learn his conquest's name. So many things had changed over the years and perhaps not all of them, as he so liked to brood about, were for the worst. The time he spent with Bulma had served to make him a better lover.  
  
Teasingly, he pulled out so that only the tip was concealed in the throbbing furrow, then, with a guttural groan, he plunged in again deeply. He moved in and out of her, increasing his tempo as he went, and Bulma began to swing her pelvis back and forth in perfect rhythm to his strokes. Moaning in pleasure, she pulled her legs up and wrapped then around his back, eager to give him complete access to her clutching channel. Lost in waves of exultant lust, she didn't notice his reaction when the heel of her left foot connected with his tail scar. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she moaned her way the exquisite shudders of pleasure of a tender climax.  
  
The instant he felt that rough contact on his tender flesh, Vegeta released a pained snarl and dug his fingers deep into the mattress. If he had been holding her at the time, his reflex reaction would probably have severely injured her. The old wound always bothered him, some days were worse than others. He had thought that he was finally over the worst of it until their joyride on that pink, two-wheeled monstrosity the day before. He had felt every single bump and pothole concentrated in that inch-wide scar at the base of his spine.  
  
Fortunately, the blaze of agony was brief and Bulma never noticed the slight pause in his technique and he was plunging into her again, faster than ever. A light sheen of perspiration clung to his olive-colored skin and his entire body glistened in the soft glow of the lamp's light. Every muscle moved with precision, his body tense and alive with excitement as he pumped his hips back and forth. Bulma's body was thrilled with wave upon wave of undulating ecstasy and she moaned in utter delight, responding perfectly to his every lunging stroke. She stared lovingly into his dark, slanted eyes, captivated to have this muscular, powerful body all to herself. She grabbed a handful of his thick hair and pulled his face down to give him a deep, hungry kiss as her hands eagerly kneaded the knotted muscles of his broad back and shoulders.  
  
Gazing deeply into the dazzling pools of his wife's glittering blue eyes, Vegeta was stunned to see the trust and love that radiated from that innocent gaze. No one had ever looked at him like that before. He knew fear, and recognized lust when he saw it but not emotions like these- Trust. Love. He never figured that he'd ever be the recipient.  
  
I think that my lifetime of shitty luck has finally run its course, he thought. Only a lucky man could be in my place right now.  
  
Bulma's eyes widened in surprise and he knew that she had caught the stray thought. When their bodies were joined this closely together it wasn't uncommon for their minds to open up. Usually, he kept his thoughts carefully guarded and only betrayed the odd word or image. This was a rare admission for her to catch. Still, he didn't regret the lapse; far from it.  
  
-Remember what you heard, mri Bulma-tik'o, he told her honestly. When we're finished, I'll be back to my old, prickish self. He chuckled against the soft flesh of her neck while she marveled over what he had confessed in his rare thought.  
  
-I love you so much! she projected with her mind as hard as she could, hoping that he would be receptive to it. Almost immediately, she heard him chuckle again and felt his lips against her cheek as he whispered, "I know."  
  
It was enough to propel her over the brink. Clutching at his bulging muscles, she was rocked with pulsing hot passion and her fiery center blazed with orgasmic release. "OOHHH!" she shrieked, thrashing madly beneath him. "Oh- GOD! That's IT! YESSS!!"  
  
Watching her climax, he knew that even if he stopped his frantic stroking he would come. Nothing would prevent the escape of the hot semen that had been building in his balls since the moment her hand had touched him. His orgasm was almost painful in its intensity, and he felt Bulma's body jerk with each spurt of his seed into her spasming womanhood. The sensation was overwhelming and he arched his back and released a roar of savage accomplishment that was echoed by Bulma's shrill peals of pleasure.  
  
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of rapturous bliss, their passion passed its peak. The intensity of their lovemaking diminished until finally, Vegeta lay exhausted, sprawled on top of Bulma's voluptuous body. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their rapid breathing until, with a groan, he rolled off of her and stared at the ceiling with heavy eyes. "I know just the perfect thing that would compliment this moment," he murmured lazily.  
  
She raised her head and stared at him. "You do? What is it?" she asked eagerly.  
  
"A great big steak. Why don't you go order up some room service?"  
  
She should have known.  
  
  
  
The Majestic Regency was known worldwide for its spectacular seaside panoramic perspective, but the only view that the newlyweds were interested in were for each other. Vegeta and Bulma spent the entire day frolicking nude around the suite and dividing their hours up between intermittent bouts of eating, catching naps, and screwing their mutual brains out. Both were insatiable with their desire for one another and it wasn't until early evening when Bulma finally had the wits to call home and talk to her mother.  
  
"Finally!" her mother screeched into the receiver. "Do you realize that I've been constantly trying to call you ever since you left yesterday?"  
  
"Sorry, mom. I forgot that my phone was turned off," Bulma lied smoothly as she laid back in the recliner and drank some champagne from one fluted crystal glass. She was currently sporting a nice mellow buzz from the bubbly liquid and nothing, not even her harried mother, could upset her present contentment. Opposite her, sprawled on the couch, Vegeta was snoring away with that endearing purr-like quality of his. In his present insensate state, she could use him as a footstool and he wouldn't stir: A combination of exhaustion and the result of downing two full bottles of champagne. It was such a rare sight to see him in a relaxed state that Bulma found that she couldn't take her eyes off of him for longer than a minute.  
  
"Um mm, a likely story," her mother responded but, fortunately, that was about as long as she stayed miffed. "So tell me everything! How was your drive? What did you see? Where is that handsome son-in-law of mine?"  
  
Bulma burst out laughing at the endearing reference and Vegeta muttered something in his sleep, shifted position, and came precariously close to falling off of the narrow sofa. Positioning her foot against his bare hip, she pushed him back from the edge and this time he rolled over in the opposite direction without waking up. She almost started braying laughter again at the sight. "He's right here, just catching up on some sleep."  
  
"But Bulma, it's barely six o'clock. Isn't that a little early- ... oooh. OH! I get it," the blonde tittered like a pre-school girl who had just heard her first naughty word. "You two have been... busy."  
  
"That's one word for it," Bulma said smugly. "How're Trunks and dad?"  
  
There was a frustrated exhale of breath on the other end and Bulma knew that her mother wanted to hear all of the juicy details and didn't appreciate the change of topic. "Trunks is adorable as ever but he misses you and Vegeta terribly. He's started this annoying habit of biting people. Why, just this afternoon he bit your father on the ankle and now he won't stop chasing after the cat!"  
  
"He's just testing you. When he does something wrong, just do what Vegeta does; take him by the scruff of the neck and give him a firm shake."  
  
"Bulma! He's not a pet!"  
  
"I know that mom, but just telling him 'no' won't work. He's half-Saiyan and needs discipline to control those aggressive tendencies. You're going to have to make him mind."  
  
Bulma knew that she might as well have tried reasoning with the wall. Too gentle to even swat at a fly, her mother would never raise her voice in protest against Trunks' actions, let alone attempt to discipline him. "We'll get along fine until you come home, dear," the blond said and her daughter had to submerge a groan. In two weeks time, Trunks would be completely spoiled rotten by his grandparents and impossible to manage. She and Vegeta were going to have their hands full when they got back. It was fortunate that the Saiyan didn't mind playing the villain when it came to laying down the law (after all, it came so naturally to him), allowing Bulma to console the boy and remain the hero. It was surprising how their varied views on parenting actually stitched together: Vegeta left the mothering to her, and Bulma let him be the disciplinarian. It was enough of a shared balance to create an environment where Trunks' unique heritage could thrive.  
  
Unfortunately, no one else seemed to understand that. "Mother..." Bulma sighed, feeling her pleasant buzz beginning to slide. "Just do your best with him, okay?" she said in surrender, not wanting a fight with her vacuous, well-intentioned mother to ruin her mood. To get the woman off- topic, Bulma told her about the previous day's problems with traffic and having to travel on Daisy. Mrs. Briefs laughed so hard that Bulma had to hold the receiver away from her ear but it left the woman in high spirits when she was finally able to hang up. Right after that, she shut off her phone again. Just in case.  
  
Refilling her glass in an attempt to reclaim her buzz, Bulma fetched her laptop and began charting their next destination as she calibrated the Dragonball radar. The next one nearest them was somewhere in the Caribbean and, after confirming the latitude and longitude coordinates, her brow furrowed in worry. It was hard to settle old superstitions, especially on a planet with so many conflicting myths and fantasies running around. This place in particular had a dubious reputation.  
  
Then again, she thought as her eyes fell on the slumbering alien on the couch, so did he. With Vegeta by her side there was nothing on Earth that could come close to harming her. That knowledge offered her comfort and served to relax her. Smiling, she went back to scanning her computer for some nearby tourist attractions that they might want to see (well, let's be honest here... attractions that SHE would want to see and would have to drag Vegeta along for the ride). A couple of hours north would take them into the Arid Wastes; a desert of sagebrush and barren rock formations where Vegeta had faced off against Gokou in their first confrontation. For some reason, Bulma found herself dwelling over the name as her finger tapped idly on the arm of the recliner. Tourists flocked to the site year around and the fissures and blast holes also attracted film crews. Why did that all sound so familiar to her? The explanation was on the tip of her tongue but she couldn't quite grasp it. After a few frustrating moments, she finally gave up and forced herself to search through her luggage for her lost capsule packet.  
  
Dimly, as if his ears were stuffed with cotton, Vegeta pulled slowly out of his heavy doze to the sounds of luggage being unpacked, rifled through, and then encapsulated again. The sound was irritating and he tried to block out Bulma's frustrated cursing by wrapping his arm around one side of his head while forcing the other side deeper into the pillow. He was in, what Bulma had affectionately labeled as, his 'Badman' mode; he had gotten laid, his stomach was full, he was half in the bag, and all he wanted to do was get some uninterrupted sleep. He'd never admit it aloud, even under the threat of torture, but the truth was that Bulma was literally wearing him out with her voracious sex drive. He never would have believed it was even possible before today.  
  
Slip a gaudy piece of jewelry on the woman's finger and she turns into a succubus, he thought and betrayed a faint smile. He absently wondered how Krillin and Android 18's honeymoon would turn out (if it ever happened, the pair hadn't even set a wedding date yet) and figured that the little runt better pack a body bag for himself. He released a snort at the mental picture of them together. And people that that he and Bulma were an odd pair-?!  
  
There was an excited shout of, "I found it!" from the bedroom and Bulma rushed into the living room and stood beside the couch. "Are you still asleep?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Too bad," she said and climbed on top of him, straddling his waist as if he were Daisy. He half expected her to scream out 'Giddy-up' but instead she held up her capsule packet. "I found my spare capsules. It figures that it was in the last bag I checked. Now we don't have to drive around on that moped anymore."  
  
Pulling his arm away, he looked up and was greeted to the sight of a very naked Bulma leaning over him. He laced his fingers behind his head and appreciated the view of her perfect breasts as he yawned, "If you hadn't found it, we could have just stolen a car. No big deal."  
  
She thought he was joking at first, and then she considered the source. "We couldn't do something like that."  
  
"Why not? It'd be fun."  
  
That certainly wasn't a word that came up in his vocabulary very often. She looked at him carefully and was surprised to see him staring up at her with a crafty expression on his face. "You've done it before, haven't you?" she realized.  
  
His faint smile broadened.  
  
"Ohmigod, you have!"  
  
"Not on Earth," he told her. "Not for a long time. Nappa, Radditz, and I were occasionally assigned scouting or reconnaissance missions instead of the usual purgings. The inactivity used to drive us crazy with boredom."  
  
"So you stole cars?"  
  
"Well, not just any cars- if that was what you could even call them. The vehicles varied from planet to planet. But they were always owned by the local law enforcement. That was the whole point. We were allowed to battle if we were threatened by an authority figure. That usually happened after a couple of hours of joyriding. By then, they'd start shooting at us so we were allowed to retaliate."  
  
She knew what that meant. "How old were you?"  
  
"Early teens."  
  
She burst out laughing. "You juvenile delinquent!" she howled, punching his shoulder playfully. It should have bothered her that he had used such antics as justification for killing people but the admission was just so unexpected that it caught her off guard.  
  
"I don't see what's so funny," he mumbled, self-consciously crossing his arms.  
  
"Don't you get it? This is what this whole trip is about. I hardly know anything about your life before you came to Earth. Now I know that you stole cars when you were a kid- It makes you more human in my eyes."  
  
"Whatever floats your boat. Do you want to do it or not?"  
  
"NO!"  
  
"Bah, you're no fun," he pouted, closing his eyes and pretending to fall back asleep.  
  
"I'm not, huh?" Bulma stayed where she was and began to rock her hips back and forth along his hard stomach. Vegeta tried to ignore her but he was betrayed by another part of his anatomy that was eagerly responding to the close proximity of her womanhood.  
  
When he felt her hand guide him into her tight entrance, he mumbled out, "Wake me when you're done."  
  
She had to laugh, even as she eased herself down on that exquisite length until he was completely imbedded within her. Deliberately, she began to flex her inner thighs and internal muscles around his rod as her body remained perfectly still. She had been practicing her Kegel exercises during their three weeks apart as a treat for their honeymoon. Now, Vegeta's eyes snapped open as he felt her inner palpitations; squeezing, letting go, squeezing harder-  
  
"What the hell-?" his voice actually broke in surprise.  
  
"I thought you'd like it," she purred, raking her fingernails lightly across his hard chest. She started adding a counter-clockwise motion to her hips while her sex muscles continued their loving contractions. Underneath of her, Vegeta grappled for control before he came too soon but he was fighting a losing battle and they both knew it. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed her hips and began thrusting up into her with little grunts of effort. His fingers dug into her tender flesh with almost painful force but Bulma was too distracted too notice as she writhed atop of him, working her hips around his member with savage gyrations.  
  
Never in her life had she ever felt so free with her sexuality. It thrilled her to know that Vegeta would be receptive to just about any whispered suggestion she brought into their relationship, and more than prepared to add a few suggestions of his own. She knew that he'd had more than his share of liaisons in his past, experiencing all manner of positions and perversions. It had served to have gotten it all out of his system and he was finally ready to settle down, willing to share his knowledge only with her. All that Bulma really knew about sex were from romance novels, magazines, and her disappointing on-again-off-again romance with-  
  
"Yamcha!" she cried out, just as Vegeta was about to climax.  
  
With a livid curse, he pushed her off of him and she fell backwards into the arm of the sofa, dazed and shocked. "Wha- Vegeta?"  
  
"You're screwing me and you're thinking about him?!" he bellowed, eyeing her in disbelief.  
  
"I just remembered something that I was thinking about earlier-"  
  
"Shut up! I told you never to say that fucker's name while we were together!"  
  
"It was an accident!" she said sincerely, knowing that the mere mention of her past lover was always guaranteed to enrage the Saiyan and she had spoken his name at possibly the worst moment imaginable. "He's got a part in a movie that being filmed in the Arid Wastes and that's only a few hours away from here. I was wondering why the name of the place sounded so familiar-"  
  
Shaking his head, Vegeta leapt from the sofa and stalked to the bathroom, slamming the door shut. Giving chase she heard him lock the door and, following that, heard the shower come on. "Vegeta!" she yelled, bringing a fist down on the door. "Talk to me, dammit! Don't shut me out." She could imagine him standing under the spray, scrubbing off the scent of her, and purposely ignoring her impassioned pleas.  
  
I hurt him, she realized with genuine dismay. He knows that I once loved Yamcha with all of my heart and soul and wonders to this day if I still privately yearn for him. I did more than just hurt him, I wounded his pride.  
  
"Vegeta, I'm sorry!" she pleaded when she heard the shower shut off. She wrapped her hand around the doorknob to try pulling on it and was relieved to hear it become unlocked. Vegeta stepped out, rubbing a towel back and forth through his thick hair. He sidestepped her and went directly into the bedroom to start getting dressed.  
  
Bulma understood that he was getting ready to leave. "Shit, Vegeta! I said I was sorry. What else do you want me to say?"  
  
Pulling on a shirt, he directed one of his cold gazes in her direction and she sucked in breath at the amount of hatred that she saw in those raven depths. "Goodbye," he said as his answer and pulled the ring off of his finger and threw it on the bed.  
  
In a rare moment as she was lost for words, Bulma watched him finish dressing and then turn to the balcony in preparation to fly away. With as calm a voice as she could manage, Bulma said levelly, "Run away if you have to. It's one of the things you do best."  
  
He came to a halt as if he had run into a wall. The muscles across his shoulders and back rippled beneath the material of his shirt as he tensened up in preparation for a fight. "I've never run away from a battle in my entire life," he told her with a low snarl.  
  
"This isn't a battle, it's a relationship," she reasoned. "That's something you have no experience in dealing with. Need I remind you that you swore to an oath? How easily it is for you to throw that promise aside when it suits you!"  
  
He turned around slowly and glared at her. "You call out the name of your ex-lover while we're having sex and you have the gall to make me the scoundrel?"  
  
"I said I was sorry and I meant it," she said in that same measured, level voice. If she lost her temper now and started shouting at him, he would bolt for sure. She had been in the wrong and she knew it, she had to try and find some way to repair the damage.  
  
It was clear that he had been expecting some manner of frenzied tirade instead of this calm approach. A muscle jumped in the angle of his jawline as he looked to the escape that the balcony offered and back to Bulma. Finally, his eyes settled on a neutral sight and he glowered at the far wall, crossing his arms and visibly at a loss in which direction to go.  
  
"I've told you before that Yamcha wasn't that great in bed," Bulma told him. "I was just thinking about how experienced you are when his name just popped into my head."  
  
He released a sour snort. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"  
  
"It's not for the reason you think. I never told Yamcha about our engagement. At the hospital while Chi Chi was in labor, do you know what he said about you? He said that you'd never marry me- That you didn't care for me as much as he did. And never would."  
  
Vegeta's mouth twitched in response to her words but that was about it. She decided to press on, "Think about his reaction if we paid him a surprise visit and told him the news together."  
  
There was a scheming look on her face that he immediately recognized. The only difference was that it wasn't his reflection. "You malicious wench," he said in a surprised tone. "Are you actually suggesting what I think you are?"  
  
"He broke us up, got you fired, beat you up, almost got you killed when he led that doctor back to you in Ivory City. It's about time that we finally put him in his place once and for all."  
  
Vegeta understood that Bulma was talking about revenge, something that definitely appealed to his twisted nature. His finger casually tapped his bicep while he considered the idea; it was actually quite brilliant and didn't even involve any combat. He could clearly picture the expression on the idiot's face as they groped one another right in front of him. A gratified smirk threatened to pull up the corner of his mouth but he quenched it as he leveled his gaze at her, "It should bother me that you want to visit your idiot ex-lover on our honeymoon."  
  
"It's a pretty good opportunity, don't you think?"  
  
"Hnh," he grunted, still considering the idea. She decided to walk over to him and was grateful when he didn't pull away from her.  
  
"I've opened my mind to you, Vegeta. You know that you're the only man for me," she told him, caressing his cheek. "You're a prince, you're powerful, and you're fantastic in bed. No human male can compare to any of that! Nobody else can even come close to how much I love you."  
  
The Saiyan was always vulnerable to a little well-placed ego stroking and this moment was no different. Bulma was relieved when the tension in his shoulders finally eased and he dropped his arms to allow her to cuddle in closer. Her arms wrapped tenderly around his waist and she looked into his eyes and whispered, "This was our first serious fight as a married couple. Do you know what that means?"  
  
He looked at her a little warily. "...No."  
  
"Make-up sex," she said with a smile and kissed him.  
  
Two hours later, Vegeta was sleeping again and this time Bulma decided that she would let him get the rest that he needed. She was starting to get a little weary herself and more than a little sore in all of the wrong places. She drew a bath for herself and slid gratefully into the blissful depths of the whirlpool tub, smiling in contentment. Things had been tense a short while ago but their love for one another had finally won out. Bulma knew that there was nothing else that could place their union in jeopardy with this last hurdle behind them.  
  
Relaxing in the hot water, Bulma thought craftily, Tomorrow, Yamcha, you are going to get the shock of your life.  
  
  
  
"CUT!" the director yelled and rubbed his aching temple. "Who the hell ever said that this bozo could act?" he muttered to his assistant.  
  
"You know darn well who," she reminded him in a cautious voice.  
  
"Thanks for reminding me," he said peevishly and jumped off of his chair and walked around the cameras onto the elaborate set. It was early morning in the 'Wastes and the film crew and actors were taking advantage of the coolness of the desert before the sun could climb and make the heat unbearable. A small shanty village had been built at the base of one gigantic mesa while nearby, brooding spires of harsh rock poked out of the arid dirt like the ribs of some long dead prehistoric giant. It was the perfect setting for a post-nuclear holocaust film called "Land of Yesterday" where the hero of a primitive tribe searched the desert for ancient weapons to defeat an evil warlord.  
  
It was strictly a "B" movie with a limited budget and the director was cutting any corners that he could. It hadn't mattered (at least not at first) that one of the film's extras couldn't act worth a damn; he displayed some rather fantastic powers that served to cut down on the budget allocated for pyrotechnics. If the director had had his way, the guy would have just been stuck on sidelines until they needed an explosion, but he was currently the leading lady's boytoy. The actress was fronting a significant amount of her own money to finance what she hoped would be her comeback to Hollywood. She had promised her lover a part and by damned, he was going to get a part! Not even the director was brave enough to butt heads with that Amazon bitch.  
  
"Yamcha," the man said as he stepped up to the fighter. "It's really very simple. All you have to do is shield your eyes like you're scanning the horizon and shout out; 'There's dust on the horizon! The attackers are coming to the village!' Got it?"  
  
"Sorry Mitch," Yamcha said humbly. He was dressed only in a loincloth and tattered leather boots and his muscles flexed nervously under a layer of sweat brought on by the rising humidity. He hadn't been allowed to shave for the part and several days' stubble coated his lower jaw. Adding his unruly hair to the look and Mitch figured that the guy was definitely handsome- he just couldn't frigging act! "I'll get it right this time, I promise."  
  
"Uh huh," Mitch said unconvincingly as he wandered back to his seat. "That's what you've said for the last eleven takes," he mumbled under his breath.  
  
"Scene forty-seven, take twelve," one crew hand shouted.  
  
"Awright people, we're wasting morning light," the director called out. "Action!"  
  
Stepping out from behind one ripped tent flap, Yamcha (listed in the credits as Expendable Tribesman Three) walked a short distance to the edge of the camp and scouted the horizon, his face drawn and serious. Raising one hand to shield his eyes, his face assumed an expression of curiosity and then fear. "Oh no!" he shouted out, "There's rust on the horiz-"  
  
"CUT!" Mitch bawled out and took his face in his hands.  
  
"Did I say rust? Heh, sorry about that," Yamcha chuckled, scratching the back of his neck with an absent hand.  
  
"Scene forty-seven, take thirteen," the crewmember called out.  
  
Mitch sighed, bracing himself for the inevitable. "Action," he muttered, quickly losing his enthusiasm.  
  
Emerging again from the ruined tent, Yamcha walked to the edge of the camp and scanned the desert. "Oh no!" he shouted out, pointing to the east. "There's dust on the horizon! The villagers are attacking!"  
  
"CUT!" Mitch screamed. "That's not the friggin' line! It's 'The attackers are coming to the village!' How much trouble is that to remember?!"  
  
"I can't concentrate! This stupid loincloth is making me itchy!" Yamcha groused back, adjusting his crotch.  
  
"This is going to look great on the blooper reel," Mitch's assistant giggled.  
  
"Shut up, Penny," he snapped back, fixing her with a sour look. "Where the hell is our 'Village Priestess' anyway? Maybe she can talk some sense into lover-boy here."  
  
"Still getting 'into the role' in her trailer," Penny told him. "You know the rules; don't disturb her while she gets into character. She'll be here soon enough."  
  
Rolling his eyes, Mitch nodded to the crew hand who immediately called out, "Scene forty-seven, take fourteen."  
  
Gripping the armrests of his chair, Mitch Jerkins said, "Action!"  
  
Knowing that this was possibly his last chance, Yamcha left the tent for what he prayed would be the last time and walked over the edge of the camp. He held a hand over his eyes as he looked around and then called out, "There's dust on the horizon! The attackers are approaching the village!" he backed up and ran into the encampment.  
  
Mitch blinked in surprise. That was actually perfect. "Fan-frigging-tastic! Cut and print!"  
  
"No can do," one of the cameraman told him. "The scene has to be done over."  
  
"What the hell for?"  
  
"There's a hovercar in the background of the shot."  
  
"SHIT!" Mitch brought his fist down on the chair's arm in frustration. He got to his feet to stand next to the nearest cameraman and, sure enough, there was a huge plum of dust from an approaching hovercar. Sunlight reflected off of the windshield in bright flashes and the director didn't need to be told that it would be impossible to edit that out of the film. It looked like there was going to be a take fifteen, after all.  
  
Yamcha came jogging back. "Hey, Mitch, how was that? Pretty good, eh?" It dawned on him that everyone had turned to watch a car drive across the sun- singed desert towards the set. His eyesight was sharper than most and it didn't take long to notice the telltale sight of sea-foam colored hair. "I'll be damned. It's Bulma!"  
  
"Who?" a fellow cast mate asked, coming up along side of him.  
  
"Bulma Briefs, my ex-girlfriend," Yamcha said happily until he noticed that she wasn't alone. His face dropped as well as his voice, "... and Vegeta."  
  
"Who?" the extra asked again.  
  
Ignoring him, Yamcha walked over to the edge of the set as the convertible slowed down and finally pulled up near the cast and crew. Bulma was in the drivers seat, radiant in a red sundress and scarf around her neck. Lounging in the passenger's seat, Vegeta took one look at what Yamcha was wearing and laughed out loud.  
  
"Surprise!" Bulma said cheerfully, waving her arms. "Happy to see us?"  
  
"You, yes," Yamcha muttered, fixing the Saiyan with a spiteful glare. "What brings the two of you all the way out here?"  
  
"We have some wonderful news!" she gushed, wrapping her arms around Vegeta's neck. His eyes bulged behind the sunglasses he wore and he squirmed in her grip with a low growl. "You're not going to believe it!"  
  
Mitch had seen enough and he turned to Penny. "Call for some security. This is a closed set."  
  
"I don't think that would be a very good idea."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I recognize her; that's Bulma Briefs. You know, of Capsule Corporation?"  
  
"So?"  
  
Penny huffed out an irritated breath and explained, "We're running into the red and the film is only half completed. It just might be in your best interest to give the grand tour to a woman who's worth billions."  
  
Swallowing, the director blinked at her for a few stunned seconds and then turned in the direction where the heiress and her companion had gotten out of the car and were talking to Yamcha. A slow smile spread across Mitch's weary face and he looked like a man who had found salvation at long last. "Penny, you're a genius."  
  
"That's what you pay me the big bucks for, boss," the red head responded sourly.  
  
Flipping her the finger behind his back, Mitch sauntered over to where the three were standing. "Ms. Briefs! Welcome to the set of 'Land of Yesterday'. I'm the director, Mitch Jerkins." He took her hand and shook it with two brisk pumps and then turned to Vegeta. "Hello there, sir. I'm Mitch-"  
  
"I heard you the first time," Vegeta sniffed. He took one look at the director's outstretched hand and sneered, "And I don't shake hands."  
  
More than used to dealing with rudeness from vain actors and the like, Mitch shrugged off the incident as he studied Vegeta curiously. "Have I seen you before? You look awfully familiar."  
  
"So, Bulma, what's the news?" Yamcha cut in desperately, before the director clued in that Vegeta had been broadcast during the Cell games. "I'm really on a tight schedule here and we're shooting a very complicated scene."  
  
Mitch flashed him an incredulous look, and Yamcha grinned at him as if to say; Cut me some slack here, would ya? I'm trying to impress my ex!  
  
Bulma smiled and passed Vegeta a sly look. "Should I tell him now?"  
  
"You've been practicing it the entire way here," the Saiyan said in a smug tone of voice. "I think he's as ready as he'll ever be."  
  
Taking a deep breath, Bulma wrapped an arm around Vegeta's waist and declared, "Vegeta and I have gotten m-"  
  
"-Well, well, well," commented a husky female voice from the sidelines. "Who do we have here?"  
  
Bulma released an angry snort at the interruption and cast an unfriendly glare at the woman standing beside them. Her entire body went cold with immediate recognition. Mitch brightened as he rushed over to the leading actresses' side. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet the star of the movie herself, D-"  
  
"No need for formalities, Jerkins. We've all met before," the tall woman said as she fixed her raven stare solely on the stunned couple.  
  
"Haven't we, Vegeta?" Dorothy Pereaux added with a grin.  
  
**************************************************  
  
Chapter Three: It's mayhem on the movie set while the cameras are rolling! 


	4. Star Struck

A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON © 2003 Darke Angelus Chapter Three ~ STAR STRUCK  
  
"You know him?" Yamcha turned to Dorothy Pereaux with a look of utter confusion. "How the hell do the two of you know each other?"  
  
The actress simply allowed herself a predatory smile as she observed the shocked pair. Bulma overcame her surprise first and matched that cool stare with a ferocity all her own. She was digging her nails deep into the flesh of Vegeta's arm but the Saiyan was so thunderstruck that he didn't seem to notice. He didn't even hear her mutter into his ear, "Don't do anything. We're going to leave right now!" She tried pulling on his arm but he remained rooted to the spot.  
  
Vegeta didn't react, didn't talk, he didn't even blink. He recognized the woman, of course. Thanks to healthy living, an opulent lifestyle, and a very skilled plastic surgeon, the Pereaux woman hadn't aged a single day from the last time they had met. Everything appeared the same; from that jutting chest that defied all laws of gravity, to the raven sweep of hair that framed her perfect face, to the alluring, hourglass shape of her body.  
  
She had wronged him in the past, Vegeta knew this. The specifics eluded him but he could feel the rage well up inside of him and knew that it must have been something major. There were still the occasional blank spots in his mind as a result of Freiza's poison, but the majority of his memories had shaken off the damage and reinserted themselves back in proper order. Dorothy Pereaux... even the name grated on his nerves and brought on the sensation of shame and guilt and-and-  
  
He released a sharp cry and stumbled back against the car, pressing the heel of his hand against his left temple. Bulma recognized the gesture at once, although it had been over a month since Vegeta had suffered from any of his headaches. It meant that a memory was returning and she had a pretty good idea which one it was.  
  
FLASHBACK  
  
Vegeta pulled on his jeans and then sat on the edge of the bed to conserve his rapidly fading strength. Behind him, Dorothy lounged back in the rumpled bed sheets, smoking a cigarette and appearing immensely self- satisfied. She stretched like a cat, almost purring in her contentment, and rubbed the Saiyan's back with her bare foot. "Well worth the wait, Vegeta. I wouldn't have missed this for the world."  
  
"I'm so happy for you," he grumbled, moving beyond her reach.  
  
She pouted. "Oh, you got your rocks off, what are you complaining about? Come and lay down with me."  
  
"That wasn't part of the deal," he said, staring at her sidelong. "Where is she?"  
  
Breathing out a lungful of soothing smoke, she stubbed her cigarette out in an ashtray on the nightstand. "Fine, be that way. I have it written down, I'll go get it for you." She rose reluctantly from the bed and didn't bother pulling on a robe over her nudity as she left the room.  
  
The instant she was gone, Vegeta dropped the pretense of arrogance and squeezed his eyes shut as a spasm of tremors swept through him. He couldn't even blame it wholly on the V'Nhar either, swept up in a wave of self- loathing that eclipsed everything else. The last hour had been a merciful blur of heaving flesh and moist heat. In the end, if he hadn't envisioned Bulma's sweet, angelic face, his climax would have been impossible. The guilt that he felt was perplexing; he and the Briefs woman were not exclusive to one another and had exchanged no vows. All they had shared was one simple kiss. Nothing more.  
  
So why the hell did he feel so ashamed? It made no sense!  
  
"Here we are," Dorothy announced as she came padding back into the bedroom holding something up in her left hand. Vegeta got to his feet and made to grab for it and she deliberately held it out of his reach. "Not so fast. Once you leave there's no turning back. I'm not running a hotel. If things don't work out for you with that Briefs bitch, I don't want to see you back on my doorstep."  
  
"Consider that a bonus," he assured her. "Now hand it over."  
  
When she did, he regarded the hundred-zeni bills that were wrapped around the wad of folded up paper. He held them up to her. "What the hell is this?"  
  
Dorothy lit a fresh cigarette and settled comfortably back on the bed, watching him in amusement. "Consider it a tip for a job well done," she said smugly.  
  
With a livid curse, he threw the money down on the floor. "How DARE you treat me like some cheap slut! Do you have any idea who I AM?!"  
  
"All that matters is that you were my bitch the minute you agreed to screw me, boy," she told him in as hard a voice as he had ever heard her use. He actually recoiled from her harsh words, as if physically slapped even as she taunted him with, "Tell me, Vegeta. How did it feel to be my little whore for an hour?"  
  
The muscles across his chest twitched in fury as he struggled for words, so great was his rage. He raised a palm flat up to her face and then stared at it after one tense moment, feeling no mental connection indicative of a ki power up. He had used the last reserves of his strength to couple with her. Until he shrugged off the effects of the V'Nhar, he was virtually powerless.  
  
"Oh shit," he whispered, still staring at his hand in disbelief.  
  
Oblivious of how close her death had come, Dorothy pulled a sheet partially over herself and calmly told him, "I would suggest that you take the money. Surely you don't want to face your precious heiress in those rags you've been wearing."  
  
He could only tremble where he stood, still sputtering with his hatred of her, unable to form coherent sentences.  
  
Drawing back on her cigarette thoughtfully, she laughed at his obvious distress. "No, you don't want to go to her looking like you've just crawled out of a ditch. Go buy yourself some nice clothes, get her some flowers while you're at it."  
  
Despite himself, he looked down at the scattered bills at his feet as he fitfully clenched and unclenched his hands.  
  
"You know you haven't got a penny to your name," Dorothy continued in that mocking taunting voice of hers. "You really worked that sweet little ass of yours for that money. You deserve a bonus just like any talented whore. It's yours free and clear."  
  
"...cunt ...slut..." she heard him snarl under his breath.  
  
"Take it. Show Bulma that you still have a little dignity left, before you start sponging off of her like you have been with me. She might not be as generous as I was."  
  
Swallowing at the mention of Bulma's name, he blinked at the malicious actress. Before he broke down entirely, he snatched at the litter of bills and ran out of the bedroom and out into the street, chased by her shrill, mocking laughter.  
  
END FLASHBACK  
  
"Oh... my... God," Bulma whimpered in a faltering voice, rubbing her own temple with numb fingers. She had also been on the receiving end of Vegeta's memory, probably because of their recent intimacy together. She'd had no idea-! With a scream of rage, she launched herself at the gloating actress. Only Yamcha's swift reflexes managed to keep the pair separated but he was having a hard time holding onto her as she thrashed in his arms like a wildcat.  
  
"I don't know what's going on here, but maybe you better leave," Yamcha told Dorothy, finding it hard to shake the puzzlement from his voice. For no good reason that he could understand, the actress was watching Vegeta and appearing to revel in the Saiyan's pain. "Dorothy!"  
  
"You don't order me around, boy," she snapped at him and the younger man recoiled in shock.  
  
Before he could prepare a rebuttal, Bulma fought him with renewed vigor and Yamcha released a howl of pain as one flailing foot connected with his shin. It was enough to make his eyes water. "Knock it off!" he hollered at her, grabbing her wrists and trying to avoid her sharp nails. The sun glinted off of a piece of jewelry on her left hand and he was stunned to see her wearing a diamond ring. And that could only mean one thing-  
  
"If anyone should be displaying the histrionics here, it's me," Dorothy said with disdain. "You and your little walking hair disaster there made me the laughing stock of the Western Capital."  
  
"Yamcha let me go!" Bulma shrieked. "I'm going to kick this has-been's ass!"  
  
"Blue-haired whore!" Dorothy hissed at her.  
  
"Conniving old bitch!" the heiress shot back with equal venom.  
  
"Low-class trash!"  
  
"Stretched-out snatch!"  
  
Mitch Jerkins decided that, as amusing as the scene was, it was time to try and establish some order. "I really think that everyone should just calm down and-"  
  
"Shut up!" the two woman screamed at him.  
  
"Smooth one, boss," the director's assistant whispered.  
  
"Shut up, Penny."  
  
"Buh-Bulma?" Yamcha was stammering now. "This... this thing isn't real, is it? Did you- are you really-"  
  
"!!ENOUGH!!" a voice thundered from the sidelines.  
  
Everyone fell into stunned silence as they turned their heads towards Vegeta, who was pushing himself away from where he was leaning against the car. He shook his head numbly for a few seconds and then focused his outraged, bloodshot glare solely on the actress. The shame and indignation of that encounter came flooding back as if it had just happened the night before. "You..." Words failed him and he bared his teeth at her in a fearsome snarl.  
  
Never one to be intimidated by a former conquest, Dorothy set her jaw and crossed her arms imperiously. "I hurt your pride and you destroyed my home. I'd say we're even, Vegeta."  
  
He was shaking his head. The onslaught of the memory had left behind a headache but at least it wasn't incapacitating. He could think, more importantly he could reason, and he intended to give this manipulative bitch the scare of her life. "We're not even close," he told her in an eerily calm voice. His grimace became a cold smile and with a grunt of effort, his ki exploded into a brilliant blue aura around his compact form.  
  
"Aw crap," Yamcha muttered with an almost weary tone. He let Bulma go and then glared accusingly at his smug lover. "Dorothy! What the heck have you done now?"  
  
"Watch your tone with me," she immediately shot back. "Or I'll have you cut out of this movie."  
  
"Aren't you paying attention? In about ten seconds, there isn't going to BE any movie!" he shouted at her.  
  
"Got that right," Vegeta snorted. He released a loud roar and his blue aura crossed the range of the spectrum until it became a yellow so brilliant it was almost white. His dark brown hair transformed into an array of yellow spikes and his chilling black gaze became a piercing jade.  
  
Watching the sight, Mitch released a choked squawk of surprise. It was something that he instantly recognized. "The Cell Games-"  
  
"What?" Penny asked dully.  
  
"Those yellow-haired fighters at the Cell Games- He's one of them!" the director realized. Not wanting to take his eyes off of the action for one second, he quickly sprinted over to the nearest cameraman leaning against the equipment. "Hey Murray! Start filming what going on over there."  
  
"No offense boss, but that doesn't look like it's part of the movie."  
  
"Just film the damn thing, okay? I don't pay you to stand around and count your toes!"  
  
You don't pay me to put up with your shit, either, the man wanted to reply but it was starting to get too muggy for petty arguments and so he simply shrugged in surrender. Swiveling the immense camera around, he began shooting the standoff by the hovercar. He had to admit that there were some pretty funky special effects going on and he pulled in the faces for a tight focus, alternating between the blonde dude and Dorothy Pereaux.  
  
As ever, Bulma was always transfixed when she caught sight of Vegeta in the midst of a Super Saiyan display. It was enough to take her breath away. It was the combination of his lighter skin tone, altered hair, and eyes that were so striking - a definite opposite to the dark image he usually portrayed. Adding to the visual appeal was the way his muscles became suffused with ki and bulged, making his usually loose clothing snug around his arms, chest, and legs. And, she couldn't help but notice, that apparently meant ALL of his muscles as she instinctively zeroed in on his crotch.  
  
"Oh wow," she whispered, an excited blush covering her cheeks.  
  
Yamcha rolled his eyes, immediately recognizing that the smitten heiress was going to be absolutely no help whatsoever. "Vegeta, power down! This isn't accomplishing anything."  
  
"This isn't any of your affair," the Saiyan growled, matching Dorothy's shocked stare with his own cool gaze. "It's between me and her."  
  
"Yamcha... honey?" Dorothy took one step backwards, trying not to make her sudden unease look obvious. She had gotten a taste of the man's ire when he had appeared on her back patio, spoken his cryptic words, and then blew up her house almost four years ago. She knew from her dalliance with Yamcha that there were select fighters on Earth who possessed some rather fantastic abilities. At that time Vegeta had revealed himself to be one of them, much to her chagrin, but she hadn't counted on this. "What is he doing?"  
  
"I'd say he's getting ready to kill you," the fighter observed matter-of- factly. In a move that was a blur, Yamcha dove in and knocked her off of her feet as the Saiyan released a blast that cut a trench into the arid ground where she had been standing a brief second before.  
  
Sputtering on a mouthful of dust, Dorothy spun towards her attacker. "How dare you Vegeta?! Do you have any idea who I am?!"  
  
"You're just some lowly human who made the mistake of pissing off the wrong alien," the Saiyan calmly said as he stalked towards her. "The prince of Saiyans will not tolerate your existence any longer!"  
  
He dropped down into a crouch, extending his hands palm-out and Dorothy heard Yamcha mutter under his breath, "Oh crap, here we go," before the very air around them seemed to explode.  
  
Covering her precious face with her hands, Dorothy screeched in distress and Yamcha scooped her up and tried to backpedal out of the line of fire. It was actually a hilarious scene as the fighter, clad only in his steadily loosening loincloth, was struggling with the actress's frenzied motions as he tried to run backwards. He tripped over his own feet and the reflex action of struggling for balance caused him to throw Dorothy up over his head. She landed on her stomach, skidding in the hard dirt for a few feet and could vaguely hear the watching extras and crew chuckling at her expense.  
  
"Stop laughing!" she yelled at them. "You stop that right now or I'll make you-"  
  
"Not now," Yamcha urged, picking her off the ground and hoisting her over his shoulder as if she were a bag of potatoes. Explosions continued to rain down around them and in a desperate attempt to gain some distance; the fighter took to the air.  
  
"Shit, that felt good," Vegeta said when he stopped releasing the energy bolts. His hands were smoking lightly and he clapped them together as he kept an eye on the retreating pair. The two didn't go far, just to the top of the nearby mesa and the Saiyan figured that the blasted do-gooder was worried about what he might do to the remaining innocents in his rage. What Yamcha failed to realize was that Vegeta wasn't angry, not anymore. He actually had a broad grin on his face that the fighter would have immediately recognized from the first time they had met. And it wouldn't have given him any comfort to see it, either.  
  
There was a feather light touch on his arm. His body was suffused with ki, adding a degree of invulnerability to his form so he barely felt it but he recognized her presence even before he turned his head.  
  
"Vegeta..." Bulma was looking at him with concern etched into her delicate features. She didn't come right out and say the words but he had a pretty good idea what was on her mind.  
  
"No killing," he told her bluntly. "I know the rules."  
  
She blinked in surprise. She hadn't thought that the circumstances would reveal him to be rational but he was surprisingly calm. Taking advantage of the moment, she tentatively touched one of his blond spikes and giggled at the alien texture. Looking into his eyes again, she was transfixed by the mischievous emerald stare he flashed her when he finished with, "But I can still have some fun."  
  
Grabbing a handful of her hair, he pulled her close and gave her a deep kiss, doing a slow and thorough job of it before biting gently on her bottom lip as he finished. He flashed her a conspiring wink and took to the air in a soundless burst of light without another word.  
  
Shielding her eyes against the glare of the early morning sun, Bulma watched him go with breathless excitement. "Oh wow," was all she could manage to say.  
  
"Did you get that?" Mitch was almost screaming in his excitement. He was looking through a pair of opera binoculars and had watched the brief, but tender, exchange. "Tell me you got that!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I got it boss," the cameraman said dully, tracking Vegeta's ascent to the top of the nearby mesa. "I don't know how it does us any good, though. Neither is in the movie and this isn't even near to the script. How're you gonna work it in?"  
  
The director looked at him as if he were simple. "Are you kidding me? That's Bulma Briefs! That other guy was at the Cell Games. All I have to do is include this scene with the DVD release and it'll break sales records! Who cares if anyone actually buys it for the damn movie? Once I show this to the backers who loaned us money for the shoot, they'll cough up even more! This film is actually going to get made, Derrick. And it's all because of them!"  
  
The film industry was a precarious one at best and not known for its job security. Nobody knew that more than Derrick who had worked as a cameraman on eight other movies where all but two actually made it to the big screen. He had an ex-wife and two kids and he was behind on his alimony. At long last, he finally began to get animated. "Hey, Lewis should have that rented chopper all outfitted with the aerial gear by now. Why don't you see if he can get it over here from base camp?"  
  
Mitch's eyes popped open like saucers and Penny wordlessly handed him his cellphone. In mere seconds the harried director was babbling orders to the bewildered technician on the other end.  
  
  
  
Yamcha just couldn't seem to wrap his brain around the concept. "How the heck do you know Vegeta?!"  
  
Dusting herself off, Dorothy fixed him with a level glare and then an expression that might have been guilt crossed her face before she looked away. Below them, the glowing nimbus that was the angered Saiyan appeared not have reacted to their retreat. Vegeta and Bulma were engrossed in some sort of conversation and Yamcha could only hope that the heiress would calm him down. Unfortunately, he also knew that Bulma could drive the alien into a manic fury with one wrong word or look.  
  
Whirling through his mind in a seemingly endless loop came the image of Bulma's diamond ring. He stared down at the odd couple with a troubled expression on his face.  
  
"It was over three years ago," Dorothy finally spoke up. "It only happened once."  
  
"How was that even possible?" Yamcha wondered aloud. "He's lived at Capsule Corp. ever since he... arrived."  
  
"He and the Briefs woman split up for a period."  
  
"Split up-" Yamcha initially thought she was referring to the awful period when the Saiyan had moved to the city of Pitch, but that had been only last year. There had been another time when the two had strayed and he remembered the part he had played in that conflict with no pride. "Dr. Briefs fired Vegeta and he moved out of Capsule Corp. Bulma moved into the Hammorski in protest."  
  
"He couldn't find her so he came to me," she said aloofly.  
  
"And he seduced you?" he asked doubtfully.  
  
An odd look crossed the actress's face and she looked away. "He- he was... Why am I even telling you this? It's none of your business!" she snapped.  
  
The first of serious anger sparked in the fighter's dark eyes. "Whatever happened, you didn't part on good terms did you?"  
  
"That bastard blew up my house!"  
  
"I don't like Vegeta but even I know that he wouldn't have attacked you without cause. What did you do?!" he shouted.  
  
The longer Dorothy hesitated the worse that Yamcha knew the true story would be. He had been sleeping with the woman for little over a month and he was beginning to discover that she seemed to have a knack for pissing off ex-lovers. He hadn't become so much as her boyfriend as a bodyguard.  
  
When it became brutally clear that she wasn't going to answer, he said, "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, do you? Vegeta isn't some human martial arts expert, he's an alien prince from another galaxy!"  
  
Dorothy snorted and curled her lip in disdain. "Spare me your tales."  
  
"Did you see him power up? Did that look normal to you? Vegeta was one of the aliens who tried to destroy the earth in that invasion four years ago. It's a miracle that you're alive!"  
  
"That won't be for much longer," a cold voice interrupted from above. In a flash of light, Vegeta landed beside them.  
  
"Look Vegeta, let's talk this out-" Yamcha received a brutal slap across the face and stumbled back a few steps. The blow had been more of a warning than an attack and the only thing that really stung was where something hard had hit him on his left cheek. He saw the ring of silver on Vegeta's left hand and finally realized the truth.  
  
The knowledge stunned him and Vegeta took advantage of the lapse and grabbed the back of Dorothy's outfit, blasting skywards. Helplessly staring after the rapidly retreating pair, Yamcha could only watch until they disappeared from view.  
  
Bulma had a hand over her eyes and was also trying to keep track of the duo when Yamcha dropped down beside her. She saw the concern on her face and made the wrong conclusion by telling him, "It's alright. He won't hurt her- "  
  
"You're married," Yamcha stated.  
  
There was no denying it. "Yes."  
  
"To Vegeta."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"When did this happen?"  
  
"Two days ago. We're on our honeymoon."  
  
"And you came here to gloat." It was not a question.  
  
Bulma dropped her eyes and chewed guiltily on the inside of her cheek before squeaking out; "Yes."  
  
Walking a short distance away, the muscular fighter tried to compose his thoughts against a tidal wave of inexplicable betrayal and managed to ask the only logical question: "Why?"  
  
"Why him or why are we here?"  
  
"Both."  
  
"You've never made your peace with our relationship. I think you thought that you could remain in the background and wait for the day when we would split up for good and you could become my knight in shining armor." Yamcha began sputtering in denial but she plowed on, "You never thought that we would ever get married. Well, for your information: HE asked ME. He loves me and we're going to stay married for the rest of our lives."  
  
"Nobody changes that much," Yamcha scoffed. "A person can't go from being a cold-blooded murderer one day into a loving husband and father the next-"  
  
She slapped her hands to her sides in frustration. "Look how Piccolo is now, and Tien. Even you, Yamcha! You were just a cowardly thief when you tracked Gokou, Oolong, and me to get your hands on the Dragonballs. You were even scared of girls, remember? Now you're one of a handful of Earth's Special Forces and one of the planet's most eligible bachelor's. People change, it just takes time. And Vegeta is no different. He just needed the right person to show him how to do that."  
  
"Like you showed me," Yamcha said in a softer tone, nodding slightly. It was true, every word of it. Thanks to Bulma he had overcome his shyness and matured rapidly, eventually abandoning his solitary ambitions into doing more noble activities. It was perhaps the very first time that he ever allowed himself to see any similarities in his character to that of Vegeta's, but they were there if he dared to look. Vegeta was slowly, imperceptibly, following that same path under Bulma's tender guidance. It hadn't happened overnight with Yamcha; it had taken a decade and, with the Saiyan, it would probably take much longer. That seemed to be all right with her. As she had said, they had a lifetime together to see it happen.  
  
There were a number of things that wanted to launch from the tip of his tongue, spurred on by male ego and wounded pride. He wanted to yell at her that the Saiyan would quickly become bored of her and move onto infidelity. After all, he had probably scored more extra-terrestrial tail than any of them could imagine (and this was what really stuck in Yamcha's craw, truth to tell); What could possibly be the attraction of this powerless little woman from Earth?  
  
This powerless, immensely wealthy, not to mention extremely spirited, little woman from Earth. He had just answered his own question. She was a challenge and Vegeta, above all else, enjoyed a challenge worthy of his skills- Physical or otherwise.  
  
His shoulders slumped with the burden of acceptance. "I hope that the two of you will be happy together," he said and was surprised to feel that he actually meant it. He even managed a lop-sided smile.  
  
Bulma looked at him doubtfully for just a split second and then her face broke out into a broad, shining smile that made his heart ache with loss. She hugged him gratefully, gushing her happiness in his ear, and he started to feel himself respond to the feel of her body. He pushed her back, blushing furiously as he tried to hold down the flap of his loincloth. There was a noticeable bulge growing there. "It... uh, kinda has a mind of its own, y'know?" he said sheepishly.  
  
"I remember," Bulma said, still smiling. Rather than enjoy the show, she turned her back on his distress and went back to scanning the sky in search of her husband.  
  
  
  
Dorothy kept right on squalling until the air became too thin and she had to start gasping for air, cradling her straining throat. It was like some terrible dream that she had no hope of escaping from. Below her, the Arid Wastes stretched out in all directions and she could actually make out the barely discernible curve of the horizon from this altitude. The desert heat was lost this high up and her entire body was shivering uncontrollably. She was only wearing her movie costume; a body-bearing contraption of leather and cloth and the hemline was riding up almost to her waist because Vegeta was holding the back straps.  
  
She stopped thrashing when her ears picked up a faint ripping sound of the flimsy material. "What- what do you want from me?" she choked out in the cold air. She could feel the fabric stretching around her body and realized that gravity was trying to pull her out of it. She gathered handfuls with panicky fingers.  
  
Vegeta appeared to be considering the view and only glanced coldly down at her.  
  
"Wh-well? Money? Fame? Name it!" she yelled, unnerved by his silence. "I can give you anything-"  
  
"Can you give me my pride back?" he asked in a distant voice.  
  
Dorothy fell into bewildered silence.  
  
"I've been injured before, too many times to count, but no one- NO ONE- had ever managed to wound me like you did. When I left your home, I wanted to crawl into a gutter and die."  
  
"I-I'm sorry-"  
  
She was interrupted by a fierce shake of his head. "No you're not. We're too much alike and I can see right trough you. You don't mean it. You saw a weakness in me and you managed to exploit it. Not bad... for a human."  
  
Was there actually respect in his voice? Dorothy craned her neck up to look at him and saw that the anger was gone from his face. He appeared thoughtful and a little sad. "This world..." he betrayed a puzzled shake of his head, "I've wanted to destroy it since the first moment Nappa and I made landfall, but for some damned reason I can't. Some days I actually shake with the urge, but I just can't. Not now. I've been... domesticated," he said the word with a regretful sigh.  
  
"Bulma," Dorothy accused. She would always loathe the heiress. There was no logical reason for it but the hate was there, just the same. She had never been a woman to consider her own conscience, or - more to the point - the lack of one, and lived by a stronger code that was dictated by instinct and survival. Despite its image of glamour and wealth Hollywood was a merciless environment and in order to thrive, it took a ruthless nature for an actress to remain popular. Bulma was a rival because she operated beyond such base concepts and flaunted her free spirit with youthful abandon.  
  
"If I had met you first, things would have been different," he surprised her by saying. "But I didn't and it's just as well. Our combined egos and arrogance would have turned this planet into a cinder. Bulma has tamed me. I haven't yet decided if that's a good thing or not but while I explore it, I want to make sure you stay out of my life. Understand?"  
  
Dorothy flushed with anger, and was there a little bit of guilt hiding in her face as well? He wasn't skilled enough in deciphering human emotions to be sure. "You conceited prick! What makes you believe I've been thinking about some sort of revenge?"  
  
"Because you are a female, human version of me," he said matter-of-factly. "We hold grudges and scheming in the shadows is what we do best. I saw the look on your face when we met; it was the look of a woman who was formulating some sort of plan. I don't know what part that weakling fighter has to play in all this-"  
  
"Who- Yamcha? He's just something to warm my bed, that's all," she snorted.  
  
Those words, so familiar to him. He had said the same callous thing so many times himself in his dark past. The resemblance between the two of them was uncanny and it was the chief reason he didn't want to kill her. "Keep him around. He might actually do you some good," he found himself saying and inwardly winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He wasn't surprised by the bitter bark of laughter he received as a response, either. It was as close to giving praise to Bulma's ex-lover as he ever would get.  
  
"He seems to have more balls than you do now, Vegeta," she chided. "You've become a pussy-whipped w-"  
  
With a snarl, Vegeta threw her upwards with a shrug-like gesture of disgust. He was left holding the remains of her costume in his grip while Dorothy began plummeting to the ground, completely nude and screaming at the top of her lungs. That brought back the more familiar smirk on his face and he took great delight in firing a few bolts after her. They flashed past her so close that she could feel the heat on her chilled flesh before they collided with the ground and exploded in a blinding firestorm of superhuman might. He wasn't deliberately aiming for her, but he was certainly enjoying having the opportunity for a little target practice at her expense.  
  
An alien! Yamcha was right! Dorothy realized even as she fell to her probable death in the middle of a shower of blazing fireballs. It explained so much-! A searing blast of energy was heading straight for her and she tried to flap her arms to get out of the way. At the last minute, Yamcha intervened and safely deposited her back down to the ground. She was slightly singed around the edges but otherwise unmarked and the close call had done nothing for her rotten disposition; "Will one of you idiots get me a blanket?!" she screamed at the ogling extras. She had her long hair pulled over either shoulder to partially cover her breasts and she had her hands crossed over her pubic area. "This isn't that type of a movie!"  
  
When nobody moved, Yamcha pulled a dusty tarp from the ground and offered it to her. She snatched it from his grasp and pulled it around herself, muttering a steady stream of curses. It didn't help her mood when Vegeta landed in front of her and all of the cast and crew suddenly began clapping. At him.  
  
"Bulma, encapsulate the car," he said shortly as he observed the sullen actress.  
  
For once, she didn't argue and trotted over to where the hovercar was parked.  
  
"Uh, hey! Congratulations on getting married, Vegeta," Yamcha said lightly, trying to diffuse the tension. "I mean, I'm really, really happy for you and wish you all the best and-"  
  
"You're both married?" It was the first that Dorothy had heard of it.  
  
"Why? Are you jealous?" he said smugly, crossing his arms.  
  
The paleness from her near-death was immediately replaced with a hectic blush that swept up from her jawline into her scalp. "Am I-I- You arrogant son-of-a-bitch! Why should I care that you married that inbred blue-haired harpy-"  
  
Vegeta sighed, and held up his arm so that his palm was directly in her face. "I didn't have the energy for this in your bedroom. Here's something to remember me by." His hand glowed and he fired without hesitation. There was a blast of light and heat and Yamcha realized that he had been an instant too slow to prevent the damage.  
  
By the time the smoke cleared, Vegeta and Bulma were long gone.  
  
  
  
About forty kilometers away from the desert set, as the crow flies, Vegeta stood atop one slender butte and solemnly surveyed the barren landscape. Next to him, Bulma was fearfully crouched and looking around with a mixture of wonder and terror. The slender spire of rock was easily ninety feet high and only about six feet wide, seeming to taper to an even narrower diameter at its base. It looked like all it would take would be for one strong gust of wind to topple the fragile-looking structure, and that was precisely what scared her.  
  
"Vegeta, why did you stop here?"  
  
At first she didn't think he would answer but eventually his deep voice drifted down to her; "I think I understand why Kakarrot chose this land for our battle."  
  
"Really? Why?" She studied his profile very carefully.  
  
"Saiyans were exiled to the 'Barrens outside of the great cities by the Tuffles and became a desert race. It's in our blood and bones and these surroundings are similar to Vegetasei. I have genetic memories of the planet and I think Kakarrot, in the heat of battle, had them as well. Why else would he pick a place that's almost a replica of our lost world?"  
  
"I don't know. It's possible but... what do you mean by genetic memories Vegeta?"  
  
His face visibly tightened. "I don't know what the landscapes of Vegetasei were like first-hand. If I wasn't in the palace training, I was off world. Frieza destroyed the planet before I ever ventured beyond the courtyard." He offered her a lame shrug. "And I was only five."  
  
Forgetting her fear, Bulma straightened and pressed herself against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her forehead on his shoulder. He didn't respond to the gesture, but he didn't pull away either. His eyes were distant, light-years away to another place and time she could never even begin to fathom. They stood like that for what seemed a very long time.  
  
Finally, Vegeta appeared to pull out of his ruminative musings and broke the silence with a deliberate change of topic; "So, where's the next Dragonball?"  
  
For no good reason he felt her shiver against him. "It's about four hours away by hoverjet but I was thinking that maybe we should save it for last."  
  
"Why? If it's close let's get it."  
  
"You don't understand," she muttered, stepping back. She chewed nervously on her bottom lip before blurting out; "It's in the Bermuda Triangle."  
  
He scowled at her in confusion. "What the hell is that?"  
  
"It's an area with a bad reputation. Boats and planes have been known to disappear into it without a trace."  
  
Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Human superstition! I can't believe that you- of all people- actually believe crap like that. The boats sank and the planes crashed. It's as simple as that."  
  
"Sure, but what made them do it?" Bulma asked in a timid voice.  
  
Shaking his head, the Saiyan turned his back on her not wanting to entertain anymore of this ridiculous superstitious nonsense. Bulma was just as happy to drop the subject. The thought of flying into that place gave her the creeps and the less she had to think about it, the better. Besides, she had other things on her mind... "Vegeta?"  
  
"What," he grumbled, not turning around.  
  
She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him again. This time it wasn't to lend support and comfort as her hands slowly caressed his chest and stomach. "I was wondering if you could transform, like you did before," she gusted into his ear.  
  
One heavy brow arched in surprise. "Into a Super Saiyan? Why?"  
  
Her right hand wandered down and squeezed him gently. "I want to satisfy my curiosity about something."  
  
"Curiosity killed the cat, isn't that what you humans say?" he countered but he was smiling.  
  
"I guess that depends on which pussy you're referring to," she purred and blew warm air across the nape of his neck, causing the short hairs to prickle and rise in response. "Will you transform for me, Vegeta? Please?"  
  
It was the first time that she had ever asked. He was so overcome with emotion that he couldn't even rely on his usual smart-ass banter to continue their verbal sparring over the issue. After a lifetime of finally achieving this goal, he had actually found someone else to share it with at long last. Wordlessly, he stepped away from her as he gathered his concentration and energy. Clenching his fists, he released a shout and the corona of energy flared out around him like a compact super-nova.  
  
The pressure wave knocked Bulma backwards and her left foot stepped out into empty space. Before she could fall off the butte, a strong hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her safely back. When she looked up, she found herself staring into a pair of mesmerizing jade-colored eyes. "Oh..."  
  
"Why the surprise? It's what you asked for, isn't it?" Vegeta asked, staring at her with a bemused expression on his face. He ran a hand self- consciously through his blond spikes, as if checking to make sure that the transformation had actually taken place. She was looking at him so strangely...  
  
"Yes, it's what I wanted," she whispered, taking in his appearance. Inhaling it. "You're what I wanted." She flew into his arms and pressed her mouth eagerly against his. For an instant, Vegeta kept his eyes open- trying to sort out the mysteries of the female gender and finally just gave up and surrendered to what was being so freely offered. He decided that it was probably safer that way.  
  
As the two newlyweds began to undress themselves, they didn't notice the helicopter that was sitting over on the next rise. It was a mere speck in the distance but sunlight gleamed off of the powerful telephoto lens. As far as that expensive equipment was concerned, the two could have been five feet away instead of five kilometers.  
  
"Ooooh man, I don't believe it! They're actually gonna doooo it!" the eager cameraman announced. "Man, I loooove this job!"  
  
Lewis, the technician, was on the cellphone talking to Mitch back at the set. "Yeah, we've been filming practically since they landed on the butte. Even picked up some dialog with the long-range mikes- It's garbled but I imagine that the sound department can clean it up some. Listen, things are getting pretty hot and heavy between the two, do you want us to keep filming-?  
  
There was a sudden crazed barrage coming from the compact phone and Brin, the cameraman, could plainly hear the director yelling; "Are you out of your freaking mind?! Of COURSE I want you to keep filming!"  
  
That suited Brin just fine.  
  
  
  
Yamcha could hear the director having some sort of an animated conversation even from where the trailers were parked, but he didn't pay it much attention. He had other things on his mind. Silently, he approached the largest trailer and knocked briefly on the door. When he got no response, he put his ear to the smooth surface. From inside, he could hear a low, muted sobbing.  
  
"Dorothy?" he called out. "It's Yamcha. Can I come in?"  
  
He received no answer but when he tried the door he found it unlocked. When he entered the dwelling, he looked around and found the actress sitting in front of the vanity stand with her face in her hands. "Don't look at me," she called out in a muffled voice. "I'm hideous!"  
  
"No you're not. You look-" she lowered her hands and stared at him and he managed to get out in a weaker tone, "uh, j-just great..."  
  
Vegeta's blast had burned off all of her hair, including her eyebrows and eyelashes while leaving her skin miraculously untouched. She looked like the world's oldest newborn. "I'll castrate that little bastard with my fingernails the next time I see him!"  
  
"For your sake, you had better hope that there is no next time," Yamcha cautioned her. "You won't find him in such a playful mood again."  
  
"Playful?! Look at my face!"  
  
"You're lucky to have a face!" Yamcha shouted back.  
  
Dorothy's features scrunched up in anger. Without her hair or make-up to cover her plastic surgery scars, she was actually a horrifying sight and the younger man backed up several steps. He was actually starting to feel a little claustrophobic in the cramped confines of the trailer. "Look, Dorothy, I only meant-"  
  
She waved him away with a dismissive gesture. "Get out. I have a phone call to make."  
  
"Oh yeah? And what's his name?" Yamcha said in a sarcastic tone.  
  
"Ronnie," she shot back. "Now get OUT!"  
  
Grumbling, the fighter stomped back from the direction he had come and left the trailer. After about ten seconds, he stuck his head back in through the door. "Uhm, are we still on for tonight? 'Cause all of my gear is in here and I thought we-" he barely avoided a patent leather shoe with a deadly three inch heel from hitting him squarely in the face. "Illtalktoyoulater," he said in a rush and ducked out of sight for good.  
  
Releasing an almost catlike hiss of rage Dorothy popped a few pills to relax her nerves and after about half an hour, she finally felt calm enough to pick up the phone. Dialing a number from memory she sat on the bed and waited for the receiver to be picked up. After about three rings it was. "Hi, it's Dorothy. Can I talk to Veronica?"  
  
As she waited, she pulled open the nightstand drawer and pulled out a framed photograph. She looked at it with a troubled expression before a voice came on the other end, out of breath and excited. "Hiya Momma!"  
  
"Hi Ronnie. How's my little angel been today?"  
  
While the two chatted, Dorothy laid the photograph aside and stretched back on the bed. The picture was of her posing with a little girl who was about three years old. Smiling eagerly into the camera, the girl was the spitting image of her mother; with her dark brown eyes and long black hair and faultless olive-skinned complexion. The most striking thing about her appearance was the prominent widow's peak that stretched down from her hairline.  
  
That, was a gift from her father.  
  
**************************************************  
  
Chapter Four: Bulma and Vegeta fall prey to the Bermuda Triangle. 


	5. Day of the Crabs

(A/N: There's a LOT of telepathy in this chapter and the italics don't work anywhere but at my web site. Sorry for the inconvenience.)  
  
A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON © 2003 Darke Angelus Chapter Four ~ Day of the Crabs  
  
Cruising steadily along at an altitude of 25,000 feet, a yellow Capsule Corporation hoverjet maintained a consistent speed of mach one as it headed eastwards. The landmass of the Continent was far below them, partially masked in white, fluffy clouds. Far ahead was the barely perceptible line of the rapidly approaching Atlantic Ocean.  
  
Inside the cabin there was a noticeable lack of conversation. Bulma could have set the jet on autopilot but she became easily bored and busied herself with constantly adjusting their altitude and checking the console read-outs. Beside her in the co-pilots seat, Vegeta was slouched in the chair and engrossed in a heavy brooding session. He hadn't uttered a word since they had set out from the Arid Wastes two hours before and Bulma was acutely aware of the reason why.  
  
Unable to stand the tension one more minute, she finally blurted out; "It's no big deal. It happens-"  
  
"Not to me, it doesn't," came the terse growl.  
  
"It was a rough day, we were tired, and-"  
  
"And we were being watched," he finished roughly.  
  
Her wide eyes bulged. "We were?"  
  
"It was the same sensation that Nappa felt shortly after we made land-fall on Earth. That was why he attacked the reporters. That was why-" he couldn't finish and became occupied with staring out the cockpit window. Bulma could only see his left cheek as he deliberately looked away from her but it was clear that he was blushing furiously.  
  
She relaxed a little with the brusque admission. On top of the butte as they began to get passionate, he became distracted. Despite her insistence, he couldn't seem to concentrate and had lost his hold on his Super Saiyan form, among other things... Now she understood. "I'm surprised that you didn't track them down."  
  
"I released an electromagnetic pulse before you popped the jet capsule. That should have done the trick."  
  
(And it did. Despite the distance of over five kilometers, the camera that Brin had been using to film their passion had exploded, nearly costing the cameraman an eye. Even at base camp over forty klicks away, Vegeta had caused enough damage to the camera film to demand a complete re-shoot. Not that it would ever happen. After that devastating discovery, Mitch Jerkins quietly suffered a nervous breakdown and was admitted into an institution. Dorothy Pereaux faded back into her own self-imposed exile plotting her next comeback. Abandoning his dreams of stardom, Yamcha went back to playing baseball all the while cursing the Saiyan under his breath.)  
  
"If that's the case then everything's fine," Bulma said in a cheerful voice. "You'll be right back to your old self in no time. You'll see. It's not the end of the world just because you couldn't get it u-"  
  
"Time to change the subject, woman," he cautioned in a hard voice.  
  
Rolling her eyes, Bulma sighed. There would be no debating the issue and she decided that things would be safer if she just did as he asked. It wasn't a particularly hard request; there were always things to occupy her mind and most dominant subject was currently; "The Bermuda Triangle. It bothers me that we're going there to get the next Dragonball."  
  
"So you said before," he said, staring at her sidelong. "Although I'll be damned if I understand why."  
  
"Strange things have been happening there since the days of Columbus."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"He was an early explorer. We're talking hundreds of years of boats and planes disappearing without a trace, never to be found again. It's an area of ocean between Bermuda, Puerto Rico, and Florida that's known to knock out navigational equipment and cause engines to lose power."  
  
Considering this, Vegeta admitted, "There were some pockets in space that did the same to the space pods. They're not an unknown phenomena."  
  
"That's right. Some scientists suspect that the Bermuda Triangle contains a doorway to an alternate dimension, or some sort of time vortex. Others think that aliens are to blame."  
  
"Aliens? Get real!"  
  
"Kami was over 500 years old and he was as alien as they come. Even ancient cave drawings depict UFO's visiting earth. What makes you think that you're original?" she asked haughtily.  
  
He glowered at her. "I don't deny that superior species may have occasionally visited here. I imagine that they caught one glimpse of the lunatics that inhabited this world and sped back out into space. What I doubt is that any were stupid enough to stick around."  
  
"Like you?" she shot out.  
  
"Exactly like me," he retorted, flashing her a level glare.  
  
Bulma tried to lock eyes with him but quickly gave up. "You're incorrigible," she muttered. She pulled out her cell phone, flipped the case with her thumb, and hit the automatic dialer. "I'm going to talk to someone who makes sense."  
  
"That leaves out your mother then," he said and began chuckling when, after the second ring, Bulma's mother answered the phone squalling, "How are my darling newlyweds?!"  
  
As the blonde began her usual barrage of questions, Bulma made faltering attempts to cut in without success. Throughout it all, Vegeta was getting too much enjoyment out of her distress so she deliberately released the joystick and sent the jet into a head spin. Practically diving into her lap, the Saiyan grabbed the yoke and steadied the plane, mouthing every expletive that he knew, earth and alien, into her face. Smiling down at him, Bulma said pleasantly, "Why yes, mother, Vegeta sends his love."  
  
"Bitch," Vegeta growled.  
  
The two women chatted amiably for close to an hour while the Saiyan sulked in the co-pilot's seat. Finally came the long awaited words he was dying to hear, "I'll call you after we're settled in. Yes, I promise. I love you too, mom."  
  
"Gah," he muttered, rolling his eyes. Was there no end to human sentiment?  
  
She offered him the phone. "Trunks wants to speak to his father."  
  
Debating not taking it, Vegeta figured that the longer he hesitated, the longer it would take to get this fuzzy moment over and done with. Snatching the phone from her, he spoke tersely into the receiver, "Listen boy, say your piece and get off the-"  
  
"!!HI DADDY!!" the youth screamed at the top of his lungs.  
  
"!!AH FUCK!!" Vegeta cried, dropping the phone and cupping his wounded ear.  
  
Gingerly picking the phone off the floor, Bulma noted with amusement that their son was now on the other end singing, "Fukfukfukfukfukfuk-"  
  
"Trunks, knock it off. That's a nasty word. You're not a parrot."  
  
"-Fuk'aparrot-fuk'aparrot-fuk'aparr-"  
  
"You just wait until we get home, young man," Bulma promised and hung up. "That boy definitely has your mouth," she told the Saiyan.  
  
"And your lungs," he growled, massaging his ringing ear. "When we get home, I swear I'm gonna rip out his vocal cords-"  
  
"We're almost there," she suddenly said in a voice that was all business as she consulted the Dragonball radar. Beside her, Vegeta looked expectantly out of the window and saw just what he expected to: the flat expanse of ocean peppered here and there with small islands. He had seen the same when he had searched for Cell after emerging from the Hyperbolic Time Chamber that first time. Nothing significant.  
  
Visibly tense with anticipation, Bulma was almost disappointed when they entered the triangle and her instruments remained steady, displaying no signs of tampering. "Oh," she said in a small voice, slowing the craft and dropping it down near the water's surface. "I was at least expecting a blip on the radar, or something."  
  
He made no comment but truthfully, he had been hoping for some excitement as well. He had been alive long enough to know that even the most surreal of superstitious tales contained some degree of truth behind their origin. The adventurous Saiyan within him had been looking forward to unraveling the elusive mystery. Now it just looked like another hide and seek venture. He pushed open the cockpit door and held his hand out for the radar. "This won't take long."  
  
"I'm not so sure," she mused, consulting the readout. "The Dragonball is very deep."  
  
"How deep?"  
  
She pressed a switch on the side and then shook it. "It must be broken. The reading is displaying a depth of over three thousand feet. The water here can't be that deep."  
  
He crossed his arms and tapped his left bicep with an errand finger. "It could be if there's a crevice down there. Or a volcanic cavern."  
  
"How deep can you dive?"  
  
He didn't answer right away. There hadn't been many purging missions that required swimming. He had done some deep sea diving on Namek but his latest water encounter had been at Installation 15. The base had been almost a thousand feet underwater and he had barely escaped with his life. Despite the grim facts, his face betrayed nothing and he lied easily, "Deep enough. Hand it over."  
  
Bulma didn't budge. "We're talking three thousand feet, Vegeta."  
  
"So?"  
  
"Every hundred feet of descent adds 45 pounds of pressure. I'm not sure that even your training in the gravity simulator can prepare you for that kind of stress. Not to mention the cold and complete darkness you'd face. You told me that you can only hold your breath for a half hour. It wouldn't be long enough."  
  
"Well, what the hell do you expect me to do?" he yelled at her in frustration.  
  
It was the answer that she had been hoping to hear.  
  
Barely twenty minutes later, the pair crammed into a tiny submersible craft that dropped down easily into the ocean's depths. At first the water was a clear aquamarine but it gradually darkened in hue until it became a deep indigo not even the vehicle's single spotlight could penetrate.  
  
Inside, Bulma was seated squarely on Vegeta's lap because the craft had only a single seat and neither was comfortable. What's more, the windows kept fogging up and the power for the heaters was being diverted to the vehicle's little engines for maximum descent. Adding to the fact that there was a limited supply of oxygen for the trek, it was small wonder that there was little banter between the pair.  
  
Bulma was dressed in a black pantsuit and heavy yellow jacket similar to what she had worn on Namek. Vegeta was just wearing his one-piece blue body suit because the heavy chest armor made the cockpit too confining. He was NOT happy. He felt vulnerable heading down into unknown territory without his predictable armor protecting his vitals. Not for the first time, he shifted position while muttering under his breath, "If I'd at least worn a codpiece, we'd both be more comfortable."  
  
"I'm just fine," she said, deliberately wiggling her butt into his aching crotch. "Besides, I told you that there was only room for one person and you don't know how to operate this submarine."  
  
"Well, I sure as hell wasn't going to let you go alone!"  
  
She looked over her shoulder at him and flashed him a sincere smile. "Oh Vegeta, that's so-"  
  
"-If anyone's going to see some action, it's going to be me!"  
  
"-sweet," she finished flatly, turning back to the controls while shaking her head. She should have known... She consulted the Dragonball radar to ensure that their descent followed after the elusive orb but she was unprepared for the sudden jolt of the craft as they belly-flopped in soft silt. It jostled the couple and visibility was momentarily lost as the loose sediment swirled around the submersible.  
  
"I thought you knew how to pilot this piece of shit," he groused, squirming underneath of her.  
  
"I'm just following what the radar is telling me. According to this, the Dragonball is directly underneath us," she said, turning on the sonar.  
  
Scowling, he muttered, "Great. Fat lot of good that does us. Does this sardine can have any burrowing equipment or am I going to have to get out and shovel?"  
  
"Actually there are torpedoes and lasers onboard, but we're not going to need them," she said. Carefully manipulating the controls, she swung the craft around and trained the spotlight on a section of ocean bed that was glowing on the sonar display. "Look at that!"  
  
Craning his head to peer over her shoulder, he could make out a shelf of rock that slanted sharply into a fissure. Partially obscuring it from view was a large domed mantle of coral reef. If it hadn't been for the Dragonball radar guiding them, they would have never discovered the opening. "That's not a natural formation," he said. It was not a question.  
  
"No, it's not."  
  
At the prospect of some adventure, he brightened. "I think we're hot on the trail of your elusive alien kidnappers. Can this vessel get through that opening?"  
  
His interest was contagious. When it came to matters of curiosity, both of them were renowned for shelving any common sense. It was one of the traits that made them so much alike (and got them into so much trouble). Grabbing the yoke of the small submarine, Bulma smiled. "We're going to find out!"  
  
It was a tight fit. The sides of the craft scrapped audibly along the rough rock, sounding like nails across a blackboard. The instant they were free, a fierce current sucked them downwards. The Dragonball radar guided their steady descent until the water around them turned as pitch black as printers ink. Strange creatures darted in and out of the spotlight, some displaying startling luminescent colors that were mesmerizing. Looking over Bulma's shoulder, Vegeta thought about Installation 15 again and betrayed a brief tremor.  
  
"Are you cold? I'm sorry but I've got the heat as high as I dare," she said.  
  
"I'm fine," he grumbled, casting a wary eye around the small cabin. With all of his time spent in space pods he knew that the confines of this craft shouldn't be bothering him but his nerves were suddenly raw with tension. His breathing increased the more he thought about the secret base and his last encounter with Frieza. He had been stranded on the ocean and had almost drowned.  
  
Almost drowned...  
  
I-I think he's scared, Bulma thought with a shock as she felt him tremble again. He was breathing far too quickly for it to be dismissed as simple excitement and his arms were wrapped around her waist with almost painful force. She placed her free hand over his and squeezed gently. He didn't return the gesture but she thought that she could feel him relax, just a little. "Not much longer now. We're almost on top of it," she said, stating the obvious. She hoped that hearing her voice might calm him further. "After we get the Dragonball we'll check into a hotel and order up some room service. What would you like? Steak? Some Lasagna? Maybe Chinese?-"  
  
"Anything but fish," he finally responded in a low voice. It was a lame attempt at humor but when she laughed, he felt some of his anxiety lessen. It was amazing how the woman seemed able to read into his emotions and redirect them with a simple word or gesture. Despite the circumstances, he could think of no other place that he'd rather be than crammed into this sardine can serving as her chair. He squeezed her waist and then relaxed the pressure. It was as close to a thank-you as he could give her.  
  
"Twenty feet... fifteen... ten..." Bulma had been letting the current pull them down to save power and now engaged the rotors to slow them down. Angling the spotlight, the pair was greeted to the familiar sight of a circular orange orb. "There it is!"  
  
"... about fucking time..." she heard the Saiyan mutter distinctly under his breath.  
  
She landed the craft beside the Dragonball and the motors disturbed the accumulated silt to expose a gigantic graveyard of ruined planes and boats. The carcasses of abandoned vessels went on further than the small spotlight could reveal. "There's no way all of these got here by accident," she whispered.  
  
"Looks like there's something to your triangle myth after all," he agreed, leaning around her to look out of the nearest view port. "Some of the wrecks don't even look damaged. It's like something pulled them down here. It's almost like we're in a-a-"  
  
The pair cast one worried glance at one another and said at the same time: "-NEST!"  
  
"Hurry up and get the ball!" Vegeta shouted while she frantically donned a pair of cyber gloves and manipulated the craft's robotic arms. She was close to panicking and her shaking hands were causing the mechanical pincers to falter. After the third attempt, she managed to clasp the Dragonball and push it into the small hold in the belly of the submersible. Just as she was retracting the arms in preparation to leave, a black tendril came out of the gloom and wrapped itself around the right support. It swung the craft up and around in an effortless arc and slammed it back down into the wreckage.  
  
Inside, the pair were thrown around the small cabin and Bulma slammed her forehead against the hull and greyed out. She landed on top of Vegeta who was lying on the floor and looking up at the unfamiliar controls wondering what he could do. Black tentacles like steel cables began to crisscross around the submersible. The heavy steel frame of the craft began to groan as the malicious limbs steadily tightened.  
  
Vegeta instinctively raised his hand palm-up to the front window but he was able to retrain himself from firing a blast just in time. This far down, the ocean pressure would pop Bulma like a grape and he doubted that he would fare much better. He was a desert breed, not well suited to extreme water conditions and learning to swim had only been out of necessity. If he thought for one instant that he had a chance to survive, he'd blast an exit and flee.  
  
But... he couldn't leave. And in his arms was the reason why.  
  
Bulma stirred and pressed a hand against the bump that was rising on her temple. It took only a few seconds for her stunned mind to grasp what was happening. There was a sound like a pistol shot and a hairline crack formed along the five-inch thick glass of the front view port. A spider web of others quickly joined it as the tentacles tightened their grip. Along the seams of the craft, salt water was starting to spray out of twisted rivets, soaking her in a chilling shower.  
  
"Oh god," she choked and strong arms pulled her close into a comforting warmth. She found herself looking at Vegeta's tense features. "You-you're staying?"  
  
"I'm not leaving you."  
  
"Oh Vegeta, that's so-"  
  
"I'd never hear the end of it from your loser friends if you died on me."  
  
"-sweet," she muttered without surprise. Despite his unique reasoning, the end result was the same; He was staying right beside her and was probably going to die with her. She hugged him with panicked urgency. "Vegeta, I love you. I want you to know that."  
  
The craft lurched and he felt his ears pop, an indication that the pressure was dropping in the submersible. It was seconds away from imploding. "I know it. You wouldn't put up with all of my shit if you didn't," he said honestly.  
  
Despite her terror, she had to betray a small laugh. "I'll look for you in heaven."  
  
"You'll have a long search," he said soberly. "I'm going to be headed in the opposite direction."  
  
"Then I'll wait for you until the end of time," she promised and kissed him just as the front portal exploded.  
  
  
  
Even before he opened his eyes, Vegeta knew that he was alive and breathing and the immediate thought that came to mind was: Dodged the bullet again. Hnh. I've got more lives than a fucking cat.  
  
His lungs were straining with effort and he coughed, feeling thick liquid in his throat and nasal passages. He was still underwater but damned if he wasn't breathing the stuff. He wondered idly if this was some new Super Saiyan transformation until he opened his eyes, squinting through the murky liquid. It was mildly luminescent and contained a faint bluish hue. He was contained in a distinct sphere of what he realized was liquid oxygen. Beside him, still unconscious, Bulma was floating in another glowing sphere.  
  
He called out to her and the words came out as a strangled gurgle. Wincing, he tightened down with his mind and projected clearly; -Woman, wake up. Do you hear me? WAKE UP!  
  
An expression of discomfort crossed her face and she rubbed her aching forehead. She opened her mouth to complain and started choking on the thick liquid. She began clawing at her throat in desperation, thinking she was drowning.  
  
-You're not drowning! He yelled at her. -You can breathe the stuff. Just take small, shallow breaths. That's it.  
  
She followed his advice and slowly adapted to this new medium. It was entirely foreign to her and not at all pleasant. It felt like she wasn't getting enough oxygen and her entire body trembled with the effort of trying to draw a decent breath. It took several minutes for their unique situation to dawn on her and she looked over at her husband urgently. She was no telepath but she could single out her thoughts clearly enough for him to pick up. -Where... where are we?  
  
-Not sure, he sent back to her. He briefly investigated his small, watery prison. It was about ten feet in circumference. When he attempted to poke his fingers through the edge, he felt numbing cold rush up his hand and a pressure that immediately caused his joints to swell and ache. He pulled his hand back in quickly. -Probably somewhere close to the 'nest'. Don't reach beyond the limits of the sphere. They're protecting us from the cold and pressure.  
  
-So... we're trapped, she said meekly.  
  
-Could be worse. We could be dead, he responded, stating the obvious.  
  
She glared at him and made the mistake of trying to yell. He crossed his arms and visibly gloated at her inability to use her most strident defense; her mouth. I could definitely get used to this, he thought privately.  
  
When she recovered her wits, she projected; -How on earth can you stay so blasted calm?  
  
-You think this is my first time in a hopeless situation? Every extra second to live is a chance to strategize and come up with a plan. You're the supposed genius here- What do YOU suggest we do?  
  
Her mind whirled with possibilities. The only thing that really made any sense was; -We... wait and see what happens.  
  
He gave one short nod. -I don't think we'll be waiting long.  
  
As usual, he was right. With the exception of the radiance that the globules emitted, there was only blackness that encircled them on all sides. It could have been minutes or hours, time was difficult to judge down here, but eventually a new presence began to present itself with a subtle glowing luminosity that increased in brilliance. Neither Saiyan nor Earthling knew quite what to expect but when the first creature scuttled up to them, the best emotion to describe what they both felt was disappointment.  
  
It was small, vaguely crab-like in structure with a squat, glowing body that was albino white and possessed several segmented legs for locomotion. It had claws on its front legs that had opposable thumbs for manipulation of objects. Poised on the end of two slender stalks were eyes that ogled them with passive curiosity.  
  
Vegeta was unimpressed. -A stupid crab. I wonder if it's edible.  
  
Bulma was looking around and felt a sharp jolt of fear. -VEGETA!  
  
When he turned, he saw that the creature wasn't alone. Swiftly joining the first scout, several more scampered over to see what all the fuss was about. Before long, the newlyweds were surrounded by thousands of the crab- like organisms. They varied in color but not in the basic body shape and the largest was only two feet across.  
  
-Boil up some water; we're having a feast, Vegeta thought with bitter amusement.  
  
She glared daggers at him. -Will you knock it off? This is serious!  
  
-Can't be helped. I'm hungry.  
  
... always hungry...bottomless gut...  
  
-Hey! I heard that!  
  
Ignoring him, she swam down as far as she dared in her liquid cell to catch a closer look at the crab-like beings. Thousands of eyeballs regarded her and nervously clicked their claws together. Patting her chest for emphasis, Bulma tried to speak her name. It came out as an indecipherable gurgle of sound.  
  
-What the hell are you doing? the Saiyan demanded.  
  
-I'm trying to communicate with them! she shot back. Patting her chest again she forced out, "Bulma." She pointed to Vegeta. "Asshole."  
  
His eyes narrowed in anger. -You are really pushing it-  
  
The strange crabs shut their eyes and a collective buzz resonated through the water, "... buhhhl-mahhh..."  
  
-It worked! She flashed him the victory sign. -They understand me!  
  
He looked around doubtfully. -They're just mimicking you, that's all. Stupid little bastards-  
  
"... ahhhhs-hooooole..."  
  
-I don't know, Vegeta. They seem pretty smart to me, she thought back with a broad grin. She received a lethal glare as a response and a sensation in her mind that was similar to a door slamming shut. He had rudely shut off their rapport and swam around in his sphere until his back was to her.  
  
Sighing, she focused her attention back on their captors. They had stopped their nervous fidgeting and appeared to be waiting for her to say something else. "Who- what are you?" she spoke slowly in the thick liquid.  
  
A multitude of eyes glanced around. "... noooot liiike oooothers..." came the puzzled response.  
  
Not sure of what to make of that statement, Bulma tried again, "We mean you no harm. If you let us go, we'll be on our way. We won't tell anyone about you."  
  
"... noooot scaaaared..."  
  
She wasn't sure of that was a question. "I'm not scared. I just don't want any trouble. I only want to go home-"  
  
At the word 'home' they became agitated and danced anxiously around one another as they babbled in their own enigmatic language. At the sound of it, Vegeta whirled around and stared at them with wide eyes.  
  
-Vegeta? she attempted, hoping the Saiyan was responsive to her thoughts.  
  
He looked over at her. -They're speaking Galactic Standard. Extremely old Galactic Standard. I can barely follow it.  
  
-What does that mean?  
  
-'Standard hasn't changed its form in over a thousand stellar cycles. That must mean...  
  
"How old are you?" she asked them.  
  
At the sound of her voice, the creatures quieted and peered back at her with their strange eyes. They made an odd series of utterances that seemed to make little sense to her. She looked to the Saiyan and saw that he was frowning in confusion. -Vegeta? What did they say?  
  
-They don't know numbers very well. 'A hundred hatchings', 'one hundred thousand hatchings'; each crab contradicts the other, he shook his head. -They argue like a bunch of brats.  
  
Realization dawned on her face. -That's because that's what they are!  
  
-Say what?  
  
-They're babies! she told him, looking around at the collection of aliens surrounding her. They were all roughly the same size and appearance and she figured she had a pretty good idea why. "Where's your mother? Is your daddy nearby?"  
  
Scowling in disgust, Vegeta sent to her, -Why don't you whip out a tit and offer to breast-feed them while you're at it?  
  
"Shut up, Vegeta!"  
  
"... ahhhhs-hooooole..." the alien crabs chimed together.  
  
Gritting his teeth, he snarled out some choice expletive in Galactic Standard and the crabs visibly jumped in surprise. They turned tail and scurried back into the protective darkness until the pair were left alone.  
  
-Oh, that's just great! You had a chance to play ambassador and you blew it! Bulma fumed.  
  
-Diplomacy was never my strong suit, he stated aloofly. -Who knows? Maybe they went to go fetch 'daddy' for you. He coughed out smug laughter until two gigantic claws dropped down on either side of his sphere. A gigantic crab easily fifty feet wide lowered its bulk to stare down at him. It didn't look happy.  
  
-You know something? I think you're right, Bulma said meekly.  
  
The adult crab rumbled in a deep bass tone that vibrated through the water and seemed to shake Vegeta right down to the bones. It was still that bastardized version of 'Standard but he caught the jist of what the monster was demanding- roughly translated as, "Just who the hell do you think you are?"  
  
"Vegeta, Prince of the Saiyans," he stated proudly.  
  
The huge eyeballs regarded him with only vacant animosity. "Saay-Ahn... whaat iis Saay-ahn?"  
  
He couldn't believe his ears, although he supposed it did make some sense. Saiyans had only become the scourge of the galaxy in the last hundred or so years. At the time when these creatures roamed space, Saiyans had been crouching in the dirt picking fleas out of their tails. "It's a race that's going to eat you with butter if you don't show me some damned respect!" he shouted fearlessly up at the other alien.  
  
Blinking in clear astonishment, the crab snapped its mammoth claws together and then, surprisingly, backed off. It regarded the Saiyan moodily for a moment, swiveled its eyes at Bulma, and then came back. "Noot oof thiis woorld..." it muttered. "Liike uus...?"  
  
"Sure," Vegeta sneered, inwardly shuddering at the thought of any kind of resemblance between them.  
  
"...straanded..." the adult said sadly, settling its huge bulk down in the sand as if in surrender. In its faltering manner, it grumbled out a long, meandering tale of its life story that took over forty-five minutes to relate. By the time it was finally done, Vegeta was nearly at his wits end and close to blasting the creature just to get it to shut up. He had a headache from trying to sort out the twisted language. The little hatchlings hadn't been talented conversationalists but the adult was the crab-like version of Forrest Gump.  
  
Unable to contain herself any longer, Bulma cut in with; -Well? What did it say?  
  
-A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away-  
  
-Vegeta! Get serious!  
  
He rubbed his temples with a grimace. -It's the usual stranded-alien story: They came to earth, lost power, and got stuck here. They thought the earth crafts they took might have a compatible power supply to replenish their own resources. No luck. They've given up.  
  
-Well, have they tried the sun? she suggested.  
  
He frowned at her. -Are you talking about solar power?  
  
-Sure! After all, the sun is the oldest power supply in the universe, she said happily. -Why don't you ask him if they tried that?  
  
-They've been stuck on this planet for over a thousand years! Are you trying to suggest that they haven't thought about doing that at some point in time? Nothing is that stupid!  
  
Seated next to them, the huge crab began nibbling at its claw, realized that it was chewing on itself, and put the appendage back down.  
  
-Does that answer your question? Bulma asked dryly.  
  
Vegeta's mouth twitched as he considered how to relate her suggestion to the crab in a manner it would understand. It took another half hour of difficult translations to hammer the idea home. At one point it even looked like the Saiyan was playing a frantic game of charades. Bulma watched all of this from the sidelines, wishing she could contribute to the conversation before his limited patience gave out. He was close to exploding and his thoughts were radiating colorful overtones of rage, disgust, and sheer frustration.  
  
At long last, the crab's eyes widened and it jumped up on its legs and scurried off into the darkness. Vegeta slumped wearily in the sphere and through their rapport, she could hear him muttering, -...thick-headed, just like trying to argue with Kakarrot... Gah!  
  
Amused, she asked him, -Any luck?  
  
He regarded her with half-lidded eyes. -How am I supposed to know? I think I got the point across but the damn thing is stupider than a bag of hammers!  
  
-Well, for what it's worth, I think you did great. I'm very proud of you, she told him. -When we get out of here, I'm going to reward you for being so patient.  
  
One heavy eyebrow cocked up. -...What kind of reward?  
  
-Well, for starters I was thinking of giving you a nice, slow massage. How about that?  
  
He frowned. -I'd sooner get a blow-  
  
The water rippled with sudden pressure waves that shook them in their spheres. Before either of them could question the source of the seismic quakes hundreds, perhaps thousands, of the slender tendrils that had crushed their submarine burst out of the ground and moved skywards with blinding speed.  
  
-I think the big fella understood you, Bulma remarked. All around them was a thick forest of swaying black cables. She had little doubt that they could reach the ocean's surface; after all, they were capable of dragging down planes. She hoped that exposing the entire collection to sunlight would help the crabs get the energy that they needed. -I just hope that it isn't night up there or we're going to be in for a long wait.  
  
-You really know how to set a guy's mind at ease, he grumbled. He had been preoccupied with his hunger before but Bulma's suggestion of a sensual reward now whetted a different type of appetite. When they finally got their hands back on each other, he had no intention of letting go of her anytime soon. The episode at the butte had just been a temporary setback and he was eager to make up for lost time.  
  
-Vegeta-LOOK! she shouted, pointing up.  
  
-I'll be damned, he muttered in rare astonishment.  
  
The tentacles were starting to glow. Currents of pale energy throbbed through the cables like a rhythm to a heartbeat, gradually increasing in speed until the pair had to look away or risk going blind. Each tendril became a glowing chain of white-hot fire; drawing energy from the sun and channeling it deep into the ocean bed where a millennium-old craft began to rumble with new power at long last.  
  
One by one, the alien cables retracted back into the shuddering ocean bed. At long last, a final straggler effortlessly slid past the bewildered pair taking its valuable light with it. They were now left alone in their solitary confinement, far below the surface and acutely aware that no one topside knew where they were.  
  
Bulma felt some of her eternal optimism start to lessen the longer they waited. -They wouldn't just leave us here! she said nervously. -They-they wouldn't do that, would they Vegeta?  
  
It didn't help that he wouldn't immediately answer. He was starting to feel some doubt of his own. In their excitement of returning to space, it was highly possible that the crabs might have overlooked them in all of the confusion. They appeared to have a one-track mind and, up until now at least, it had appeared to be focused solely on breeding, if their explosive numbers were any indication. -Woman-Bulma, I don't know-  
  
"Goo hoome noow," a voice announced, making them both jump in surprise. The adult alien was back, almost prancing on its huge legs and miraculously avoiding all of the youngsters running around underfoot. "Haapy-Haapy... jooy-jooy! Hooooooome!"  
  
"Right. Home. Good for you," Vegeta said roughly. "Now it's your turn. You'll take us topside and let us go. Understood?"  
  
The large adult cocked its head to one side curiously. "Noot coome wiith?"  
  
It took awhile for the Saiyan to process the offer. He finally shook his head and said in a softer voice, "I'm right where I want to be."  
  
Bulma became the target of the crab's scrutiny for a long moment before it turned to Vegeta and rumbled out a query. She didn't know what he said as an answer but he was smiling and had nodded in her direction. The two aliens exchanged some puzzling banter for a short while. At long last, the huge adult offered the prince a respectable little bow and waddled over to Bulma and did the same. "Thaanks yoou," it grated out in mangled English.  
  
"You're welcome," she responded, smiling as all of the little hatchlings began echoing the sentiment of their parent. One by one, they retreated back into the stygian darkness until it was just the newlyweds.  
  
-What did you two talk about? she asked.  
  
-They'll let us go when we reach the surface.  
  
-Is that all? It seemed like there was more to it than that, she said knowingly.  
  
He passed her enigmatic little smirk and said nothing.  
  
-You're not going to tell me, are you?  
  
His smile broadened. -We aliens like our secrets.  
  
  
  
Just before sunset, the calm waters of the Atlantic began to boil and froth as if exposed to tumultuous currents. In an explosion of water, coral, and debris, a circular-shaped craft of gigantic proportions burst from its oceanic prison and entered the atmosphere of earth for the first time in one thousand years. It lingered there for one the span of several seconds, hovering like a dirty soap bubble before something shot out of its underside and landed in the water. After that, it glowed star-bright and shot into orbit with amazing speed, leaving a scar in the atmosphere from its rapid ascent. Several sonic booms echoed across the ocean like thunder.  
  
Bobbing in the waves, Bulma and Vegeta were coughing and retching, trying to get all traces of liquid oxygen out of their aching lungs. "Air... never tasted... so sweet," she choked out in a hoarse wheeze.  
  
Lost to a bout of coughing, Vegeta simply nodded in agreement. He'd had his fill with being trapped underwater and being confined to a small space. His ordeals of the last year were still too fresh in his mind and floating in the ocean was another similarity he just couldn't deal with. He grabbed Bulma with one arm and the object she was holding with the other and blasted them out of the water before she could react.  
  
The nearest island was several kilometers away and he deposited them safely on a deserted beach and then sat down in the sand. It had turned out to be a very long day and he felt like he had gone ten rounds with the Earth's Special Forces. It was hard to believe that just that morning they had driven out to the movie set on the Arid Wastes. The confrontation with Dorothy Pereaux felt like it had happened a hundred years ago.  
  
She looked down at him with concern. "Are you alright?"  
  
"I'm fine," he said, fluffing his hair back up to its normal jagged appearance. "I'm not used to talking my way out of trouble. I'd sooner use my ki. Diplomacy is damned exhausting."  
  
She sat down beside him and kissed his cheek. "You did just great," she said and held up the object in her left hand. "How did you manage to get them to give us the Dragonball?"  
  
Pulling off his waterlogged boots, he said, "I told the adult that it was your egg."  
  
"You did what?!"  
  
"It was the only thing it understood. They didn't know what it was," he said with a vocal shrug.  
  
Bulma gaped at him and then fell back in the sand giggling weakly at the irony. She saw the Saiyan's sour look and laughed even harder. He sighed and decided to let her humor run its course. She had earned the privilege just for stating the obvious that the aliens should use solar power to recharge their engines. It would never have occurred to him.  
  
As her laughter tapered off, she laced her fingers behind her head and smiled up at him. The sky was assuming a deep amber as the sun began its descent and the light played off of his face and the brown highlights of his hair. Beads of water trickled down his neck and ran down his body suit. She grabbed the material on his arm and ordered, "Take that off."  
  
The weariness in his dark eyes lifted. "I will if you will," he parried.  
  
She sat up and unbuttoned the yellow jacket and then pulled off the black top without hesitation. She stretched back in the sand and waited. Vegeta scored no points for finesse. He grabbed the neckline of the suit and simply tore it off to the waist. Stretching out beside her, the pair began making out on the beach. It started out as gentle caressing and kisses, but before long they were rolling around on the sand like a pair of ardent teenagers.  
  
Arms and legs intertwined, they tumbled up against something firm and really didn't register anything until there was a subtle cough above them. Reluctantly parting long enough to spare a glance, they both recoiled from the sight of an elderly couple staring down at them in amusement.  
  
Even more shocking, the pair were nude.  
  
"Young love. Isn't that just adorable, Morris?" the old lady cooed, marveling at the play of muscles across Vegeta's back and arms.  
  
"Yes, Abigail," Morris agreed, smiling toothlessly at the sight of Bulma's bare breasts.  
  
"What the hell? Who are you? And what the hell are you doing here with no clothes on!" the heiress screeched, trying to hide behind the visibly shocked (and disgusted) Saiyan.  
  
"We're from the resort," Morris said matter-of-factly.  
  
"What resort?"  
  
Abigail gestured down the beach. "It's just around the bend. The La Buffa Nudist Resort."  
  
Vegeta collapsed backwards into the sand. Ugly, naked humans. Great. His day was just getting better and better.  
  
"We're hurrying back because it's almost time for the buffet," Morris added.  
  
That got Vegeta's attention. He immediately sat back up as his stomach released an audible growl. He could tolerate the sight of some naked flesh if there was a filling meal as a pay-off. Beside him, Bulma sighed in surrender and didn't even bother to argue. The Saiyan had been on extraordinary good behaviour for the entire day and deserved his reward. She could wait until he got something in his stomach before giving him a reward of her own making.  
  
"Well, if we're going to eat there, we might as well go check in," she suggested as she got to her feet and dusted the sand off of her body.  
  
"Er, dear, weren't you listening?" Abigail said. "It's a Nudist Resort. That means clothes aren't allowed."  
  
"I heard you," Bulma said. Without missing a beat, she pulled down her pants and threw them into the stunned Saiyan's lap. "Carry my clothes, will you honey?" she giggled and took off running down the beach wearing only her boots.  
  
For one stunned moment, Vegeta couldn't even move he was so completely thunderstruck. Finally he jumped to his feet and started to chase after her before he remembered the Dragonball. Juggling her clothes and the mystical orb in his arms, he ran after her shouting, "You get back here! I'm not going to have strange humans stare at my naked wife. BULMA!"  
  
Slowly following after the odd pair at their own measured pace, Abigail turned to her husband and asked, "Should I have told them that it's Senior Citizens Week at the resort?"  
  
Morris' wistful smile broadened. "Naw. They'll find out soon enough," he remarked with a laugh. "It should come as quite a shock."  
  
As it turned out, THAT was an understatement.  
  
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Chapter Five: The news of Bulma and Vegeta's marriage hits the papers. How will the pair deal with the scrutiny? 


	6. Paparazzi Panic

A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON © 2004 Darke Angelus Chapter Five Paparazzi Panic  
  
"Have they tried the sun?" Bulma suggested.  
  
Vegeta couldn't believe it. Five simple words that managed to solve a millennium-old dilemma and damned if it hadn't taken her all of thirty seconds to come up with it. 'Have they tried the sun.' Gods be damned- the woman was brilliant!  
  
As he lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, Vegeta listened silently to Bulma's rhythmic breathing. His fingers were linked together behind his head as he pondering the events of yesterday. All of the excitement from their 'alien abduction' had turned the heiress into an insatiable, wanton Goddess. He had gotten a glimpse of that wild abandon right after they had collected the first Dragonball. It had been nothing compared to the sex- crazed woman who had confronted him once the door to their suite had closed. The entire cabana was now in complete disarray; clothes had been quickly discarded (all being his, Bulma was obeying the no-clothes rule of the resort to the letter), the furniture was out of place, and lamps and other fragile items were either knocked to the floor or broken. Even the pictures and lithographs now hung askew on the walls. Their whirlwind passion had started in the living room, moved into the small kitchen, rebounded off of the bathroom, and finally ended three feet shy of their bed.  
  
Turning his head to the left, he stared at her in the darkness. She was lying on her side facing him, her leg pulled up slightly. Her mussed odd- colored hair covered her delicate features so he slipped his fingers into that tangled softness, moving the tendrils carefully away from her face. He'd been with passionate women before, but until Bulma he'd never been with a woman that sparked such a powerfully harmonic chord in himself. With sex, he had always been the kind of man who took it when it came and forgot it when it didn't. But with Bulma, he only wanted to take it, take it, and take it some more. Training and battles be damned. He had no idea a woman from a backwater planet like Earth would ever have been capable of pulling him in so close, closer then he thought he'd ever go, with anyone.  
  
His eyes wandered to the swell of her breast and the pink tip that peaked beneath it. He was tempted to reach out and touch it, to roll the tender nipple between his fingers and feel it harden to a tight bud against his touch. The mere thought began the stirring of something deep within his stomach and he fought the impulse. Instead he slid out from underneath of the rumpled sheets, like a man who had spent many past encounters leaving before his conquest ever woke up. The instant his feet found carpet he straightened and almost fell to his knees from the blaze of fire concentrated in the tail scar at the base of his spine. Taking the trip on Bulma's Wild Ride had aggravated the old wound again. Like a sailor trying to walk on a listing ship, Vegeta painfully hobbled into the bathroom and shut the door.  
  
A long, hot shower relaxed his tense muscles but the scar was still paining him. It had been ever since his first day on Earth when the obese Samurai had ruthlessly hacked off the proud appendage with his pathetically dull sword. Some days were better than others but all of this time of no training and traveling in Bulma's cramped vehicles were taking its toll- and the honeymoon wasn't even half over!  
  
Wiping off a strip of condensation from the mirror over the sink, Vegeta somberly considered his reflection. Bulma had mentioned that he could have the nerves deadened to sensation in a hospital procedure that wouldn't even take an hour. It was tempting, but his memories of Installation 15 kept interfering with him going through with it. He wasn't as fearful of needles as Kakarrot had been, but he didn't want to go out of his way to get stuck by one either. Thankfully, Bulma wasn't a nag over the issue. She was content to let him make up his own mind about the surgery.  
  
Grumbling, he rummaged through Bulma's make-up bag and pulled out a bottle of pills. Extra Strength Tylenol.  
  
Menstrual.  
  
"Ah crap," he grumbled, sifting through the other 'emergency' medications that she had brought along for the trip. There was Gravol, anti-diarrhea tablets, anti-gas pills, and every other anti-something that Earthlings seemed to be plagued with. But there were no other painkillers. Nothing stronger than regular aspirin. In desperation he squinted at the label of the bottle he was holding.  
  
Tylenol Menstrual Caplets act quickly to provide effective relief of menstrual cramps, backaches, breast tenderness, irritability, and headaches, it read. After a moment of consideration, Vegeta muttered, "I guess two out of five is better than nothing," and dry-swallowed six pills.  
  
When he returned to the bedroom, he looked out of the open window. The night was crystal clear and he spared a glance skywards to take in the glittering canopy of stars. There was none of that loneliness or resentment that usually plagued him whenever he stargazed. Rather he felt an odd sort of contentment, a sensation that was utterly foreign to him. Glancing over his shoulder at the bed, he knew who was responsible for this strange feeling. He should have been angered at the prospect of losing his edge, of getting soft, but couldn't muster the emotion.  
  
"I've been ...domesticated," he muttered softly. Bulma's presence had softened his heart and changed him, somehow; had made another life possible. A better one, perhaps.  
  
The cabana suddenly felt too confining and he felt the need to get some fresh air. He looked briefly around for his pants and quickly gave up (they were draped over one of the blades on the ceiling fan and slowly revolving above the sofa). About the only perk at being at an old fogy nudist resort was that everyone turned in before midnight. He'd had quite enough of the sight of stretched teats and sagging scrotums to last a lifetime, thank you.  
  
Guided by the rhythmic roar of waves breaking on the beach, he leaned against a palm and crossed his arms, staring moodily out at the ocean. The sound was actually quite calming and he relished the sensation of warm air gently wafting over his bare flesh. He had no idea that he was even drowsing until a hand lighted upon his shoulder, startling him.  
  
He whirled with a shout, left arm raised and his hand clenched into a tight fist. It was only Bulma standing quietly behind him. "You damn near got your face rearranged, woman! You should know better than sneak up on me."  
  
Unruffled, Bulma said, "I didn't sneak up on you. I called your name twice but you didn't answer."  
  
His only response was a snort and he went back to studying the waves.  
  
"It's really beautiful here, isn't it? The only thing that's missing is a full moon. That would be just the final romantic touch."  
  
"Yes, there's nothing more romantic than a bare-assed Oozaru stamping about squashing naked senior citizens," the Saiyan said and actually coughed out a brief laugh at the thought.  
  
Bulma rolled her eyes in exasperation. At times like this it was always a refresher that the man she had married wasn't from this world. She sat down in the sand and tugged on his arm. When he relented and sat down beside her, she crawled into his lap.  
  
"What preoccupation do you have with always using me as your chair?" he asked, trying to sound indignant even as her body settled easily against his own. It was a weak protest and they both knew it.  
  
"It's the best seat in the house," she purred and wrapped her arms possessively around his neck.  
  
They shared a deep kiss and he relished the yielding pliancy of her lips and the strong shape of her teeth under them. He reached for her breast with his hand and cupped that full warmth. As he stroked the nipple with his thumb, it raised its head, grew hard, and began to tingle. She uttered a small, moaning sigh directly into his mouth and he tasted the fragrance of her breath, letting it awaken a hunger that demanded it be sated.  
  
They made love right there on the beach near the shoreline; skin-to-skin and breath-to-breath their bodies rocked slowly together in the soft sand. It was gentle, this act, with no words spoken aloud between the two lovers. When it was over, they drifted asleep in each other's arms.  
  
  
  
Bulma came groggily awake as the sky began to brighten in the east, squinting around at her surroundings. Voices had woken her up but she couldn't figure out where they were coming from. Some early risers from the resort, perhaps. When she tried to sit up she discovered that Vegeta was holding onto her with a death grip. "Vegeta-"  
  
"Huzzuz," came the response.  
  
"You're holding me too tight."  
  
"Huzzuz," he said again, not waking up.  
  
"Damn it." She squirmed around in his muscular arms and acutely regretted where they had chosen to bed down. "Aw great. Now I've got sand in my p-"  
  
"Holy cow! It's really them!" a male voice shouted from the tree line.  
  
Before she could react, a throng of photographers erupted out of the foliage in a dazzling array of flashbulbs, camera lights, and spotlights. There were at least twenty of them approaching at a frenzied sprint with more pelting down the beach on either side, boxing the couple in. Bulma realized with dismay that someone at the resort must have recognized her and leaked her whereabouts to the media.  
  
"Vegeta, wake up!" she screamed.  
  
He muttered something similar to "not now" and released her so he could settle into a more comfortable position. Having no time to question what was wrong with him, she shouted directly into his ear: "We're under attack!"  
  
He jolted awake as if she had shocked him with a cattle prod to the privates. Leaping to his feet like a cat, he crouched down protectively near his bride and blinked in stunned amazement at the swarm of humans who were advancing. His hand immediately shot out in that all-too familiar palm- up gesture that she knew was a precursor to a Big Bang attack. She leapt on his arm and brought it down with her body weight (with effort). "No killing! Just get us back to the cabana!"  
  
"Ms. Briefs! Is it true that you've gotten married?!"  
  
"Can we have a few words with your husband?"  
  
"What's his name? Where did you meet him? Sir! What do you-"  
  
Gathering Bulma up in his arms, Vegeta bowled through the crowd like a pro linebacker on his way to a touchdown, not caring who he knocked over. His reflexes were still muddled by the muscle-relaxants but he managed to get them into the small shelter and lock the door in record time.  
  
"What the fuck was that all about?" he asked in confusion, resting his back against the door.  
  
"Somebody must have leaked it to the press that we're on our honeymoon!" Bulma fumed, running around the room and pulling the curtains closed as the paparazzi closed in.  
  
"Who the hell would have-"his mouth closed with a snap and he didn't bother saying anything more. He didn't have to.  
  
Matching his furious glare, Bulma nodded once. "Dorothy," they mouthed together.  
  
Stamping into the bedroom to get dressed, the Saiyan snarled, "I'm gonna kill that bitch once and for all-"he recoiled as a multitude of flashbulbs went off directly in his face, blinding him.  
  
Grinning with victory, an amateur photographer exclaimed, "Fantastic! Playgirl is going to pay me a fortune for these!" she dove out of the open bedroom window just as Bulma was racing towards her. She actually had the audacity to flip the heiress a thumbs-up as she ran away. "You're a lucky lady, Ms. Briefs! A VERY lucky lady, if you catch my d-"Bulma slammed the window shut, cutting off her words.  
  
Rubbing the spots from his eyes, Vegeta squinted around blindly looking as close to frantic as Bulma had ever seen him. She could understand the confusion; he was entirely out of his depth in this situation. His missions in life had involved subterfuge and carnage, certainly never recognition or celebration. Her heart ached a little for what he would have to go through now that the cat was out of the bag. Like it or not, the rest of their honeymoon was going to be swept up in a media frenzy and Vegeta was now the focal point of the show.  
  
It didn't help when there was the thudding sound of rotors and a helicopter hovered over the small building like the world's biggest dragonfly. "Why are they acting like this? I don't get it!" Vegeta shouted over the sound of the chopper.  
  
"This is why I tried to keep it secret until we got back to Capsule Corporation," she hollered back as she began collecting their discarded clothes. "The world's richest woman has finally gotten married. It's huge news and now, sweetheart, so are you. Like it or not, you're famous."  
  
He definitely did NOT like it, that much was plain on his face. "What if someone clues in that I tried to destroy the earth? If I remember correctly, that was your biggest fear right from the start."  
  
Once it had been but that concern no longer plagued her. "You don't look near the same from that day. You're taller, more muscular, even your hairstyle is different-"At that he ruffled his still too-short hair and scowled. "When you're dressed in street clothes, no one would think twice that you're anything other than an earthman."  
  
"Brr." He shivered in revulsion at the suggestion.  
  
"Our little secret," she tipped him a wink.  
  
He didn't return it. "So... what are we supposed to tell them?"  
  
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she said and started to get dressed.  
  
Hours later, they were flying over the Atlantic in Bulma's hoverjet while she talked with her mother on the phone and he had her laptop sitting on the console. It had been their poor luck it was a slow news day and the announcement of their marriage was on the home page of every newspaper and television station that had a website on the Internet. Pictures taken from the resort had been downloaded and posted in record speed and at every website he trolled, Vegeta saw the two of them huddled together on the beach, with strategic black bars placed over their privates. He was shaking his head in a constant side-to-side motion that was almost an involuntary twitch.  
  
"- little is known of the mysterious man often seen in company with the elusive heiress. Several unconfirmed sources state that he serves as her bodyguard while others report that he is an employee of Capsule Corporation. Whatever the circumstances of his background, it's plain that his love for Bulma Briefs holds no bounds-"  
  
"Oh crap," he said weakly, clicking helplessly onto the next site.  
  
"IS HE THE FATHER?" was a dramatic marquee on CNN's home page. There was a close-up of Trunks and him side-by-side and only a blind man couldn't see the resemblance. Wolf Blitzer's column had this to say: "Ever since his birth, the paternity of Trunks Vegeta Briefs has been constantly called into question by the media. Although she had garnered some scorn for the choice of having the child out of wedlock, it is now clear that Ms. Briefs has finally decided to relent to her critics' advice and get married. Now for this hour's poll: Who do you think is the baby's father? The man she just married, Mr. Satan, Yamcha of the Earth's Special Forces, Cell, or was it from some one-night stand? Results will be posted at-"  
  
"Aw crap," by now Vegeta was almost whining. It didn't help overhearing Bulma as she said beside him; "-No, mom, I mean it. Don't say one word. Yes, I know he has a great ass but that doesn't mean you have to brag about it. That's my job. If anyone is going to praise Vegeta's ass it's going to be me-"  
  
"Hang up," he growled at her.  
  
"-No, not that either-"she started giggling.  
  
"Hang up the damned phone NOW!" he roared.  
  
"Gottagotheprinceispissed," she said and folded the phone. Calmly, she turned to look at him, eyebrows raised in polite query.  
  
"What are you going to do about this mess?"  
  
"There's not much I can do. We'll have to let it run its course."  
  
"That's a piss-poor strategy and you know it!"  
  
"The only strategy here is patience," she explained. "Eventually, something else will come along and the paparazzi will follow after it. They're like wolves and right now it's our scent they're fixed on."  
  
He continued to glower at her. The vertical line between his brows looked as deep as a trench. "So in a day, this will be all over?"  
  
"Uhm..."  
  
"A week?"  
  
"Ahh..."  
  
"A month?"  
  
"...If we're lucky."  
  
He slumped in his seat and went back to browsing the Internet. One search engine was already boasting over a dozen listings for "Bulma's Mystery Man Nude PicXXX". By tomorrow it would be over a hundred.  
  
"I'm in hell," he said matter-of-factly.  
  
"Oh, it isn't so bad-"  
  
""Click here for pictures of Bulma's well-hung mate! 'What a lucky lady!' claims Playgirl editor.""  
  
She started laughing. "Well, I can't even sue them for lying in that case."  
  
She could have sworn that she saw his lips twitch in amusement but wasn't sure. The issue was a sensitive one and she didn't want to push her luck. Setting the hoverjet on autopilot, she pulled out her Dragonball radar and regarded the display. "Collecting a Dragonball will get our minds off of this circus for a little while. Let's see... according to this, we'll find the next one on the west coast of Europe. It looks like it's on an island-"  
  
"Great Britain," Vegeta piped up.  
  
After a moment of studying the data, she nodded. "That's right. It's in Southern England, right around -"  
  
"London."  
  
She whirled around in shock. "How do you know all this?"  
  
His face carefully guarded, Vegeta turned the laptop around and let her read the display. He had accidentally surfed over to a BBC news site where there was a picture of the one-star Dragonball resting on a velvet cushion. "Mystic Relics and Ancient Artifacts," the headline proclaimed. "The British Museum is featuring an exclusive grand opening tonight of their new wing devoted to its unique collection of rare archaeological treasures. In its first ever appearance to the public is the mystic Dragonball, rumored to possess extraordinary supernatural attributes. In attendance will be several members of the Royal family, as well as dignitaries, various social elite, and the media-"  
  
"Hnh," she said, sitting back in her seat. She became lost in thought and Vegeta knew from past experience that when she went silent it was never a good thing. It was another of those qualities that they shared. "What's on your mind?" he asked warily.  
  
"I was thinking that we might be able to kill two birds with one stone."  
  
He brightened a little with the thought of getting away with some killing but figured (correctly) that it was just damnable human slang. "How?"  
  
He didn't get the answer he was hoping for when she turned to him and asked, "Did you pack your tuxedo?"  
  
  
  
Oh yeah, I'm definitely in hell, Vegeta thought gloomily as he considered his reflection in the hotel room's mirror. He was immaculately decked out in a brand new double-breasted tuxedo complete with dark blue cummerbund and silk bow tie. From the disgusted expression on his face he might as well have been wearing a straightjacket; it would have felt about the same way to him: Restrictive. He didn't even know when Bulma had bought the damned thing, more proof that she had packed everything but the kitchen sink for their honeymoon. Heck, there was probably one or two of them stored away in a capsule somewhere, too.  
  
"I'm almost ready!" Bulma called from the bathroom.  
  
He grunted and went back to glaring at himself. As an afterthought, he pulled out a comb and ran it through his thick hair, trying to coax it into a shape that didn't look like he'd stuck his finger in a light socket. Not for the first time he was wondering why he was even going along with this charade. At first Bulma's plan seemed simple enough; show themselves to the media, and steal the Dragonball all in one night. Bulma's logic was that the paparazzi would back off a little if they didn't play so hard to get and answer a few simple questions. As ever, the Saiyan was coming to terms that his mate really didn't understand the concept of logic any more than he did. And maybe, just maybe, she didn't understand her fellow earthlings as well as she thought she did either.  
  
One simple phone call to the curator of the British Museum had been all it took. Their attendance at the supposedly by-invitation-only affair was made immediately. A limo was arranged to pick them up at eight o'clock on the dot and take them directly to the Opening. Glancing at the grandfather clock in the hallway, Vegeta saw that it was ten to eight. "Speed it up, woman. You're going to make us-"  
  
"I'm ready," she announced.  
  
Snapping his head around, he saw that she was standing in the hallway. Their eyes met; brilliant blue against raven black and the charge was almost electric in its intensity. Vegeta actually took a wandering step back in amazement before he collected himself. Wearing a full-length red satin dress with matching elbow length gloves, she drifted down the corridor towards him. She had her hair carefully done up in a stylish coif and was wearing a pair of teardrop earrings and a pearl necklace. There was a calm smile on her perfectly made-up face and the two simply regarded one another in silence before Bulma offered, "You look wonderful."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
She waited patiently for a similar compliment and when it didn't come, she pulled a wrap around her shoulders and moved towards the door, muttering, "Well, I guess we'd better get going. Wouldn't want to be late."  
  
Completely oblivious of his slight, Vegeta went along with her willingly enough. They had barely stepped outside of the door, that the doorman was holding open for them, when a deep black limousine pulled up to the curb. The side door opened up like a crow's wing, exposing a sumptuous cabin interior of dark burgundy. There was no one behind the wheel and the Saiyan hesitated even as Bulma climbed inside. "It's sent from the Museum on automatic pick-up," she explained when it appeared as if he wasn't going to join her. "No flying tonight. We're going to this Opening in style. If you don't get in, we're going to be late."  
  
With clear reluctance, he got inside the spacious interior and sat self- consciously beside her. The door pulled itself closed and the limousine rose on its cushion of air and left the hotel. For most of the way Bulma sat still in her seat while Vegeta turned all of his attention to the side window, watching the sites as they drove down Great Russell Street. He said nothing despite her repeated attempts to draw him out. He had been largely silent ever since they had checked into the Guildhall Arms Hotel and she began rifling through the capsules for their formal clothes. Their brush with the media had bothered him, that much was true and even understandable, but she knew the alien well enough to tell when his quiet periods were spent brooding, scheming, or being just plain anxious. She had to find out for sure what mode he was currently stuck in. "Vegeta-"  
  
"Did you really mean that?" he spoke up in a rough voice. "About my being taller?"  
  
Momentarily baffled by the odd question, Bulma could only stare at him in confusion.  
  
"Is that important to you?" he persisted, turning to look at her.  
  
"Important to me? No, it's not important-"  
  
He snorted. "Bah. I know what you're used to."  
  
"Yamcha? Is that what you're bothered about?" she asked with dismay. She remembered how he had reacted to the criticism of his height by the man at the rest stop on the first day of their honeymoon. She had suspected then that there was more behind his over-reaction than just wounded pride but she had miscalculated that shame had any part to play. Until now, she had never even known it existed. "He was an unfaithful, skirt-chasing fraud who had a dick the width of a pencil-"she thought that Vegeta's left eyebrow twitched in amusement at this but couldn't be sure. "Sure he was tall, and it gave me a sore neck every damn time we kissed."  
  
His eyes narrowed suspiciously, searching for any trace of lie in her words. "It's the truth, Vegeta. You and I are a perfect fit. It shouldn't even matter to you... but it obviously does. Why?"  
  
"Most worlds associate height with respectability and this planet is no exception," he told her grudgingly. "I could turn the earth inside-out a hundred times over but all that anyone seems to care about is that I have to jump to reach the top shelf in a grocery store."  
  
She shrugged. "You think you're alone?"  
  
"I think it's unfair. Kami showed me the truth in his hall of mirrors those few years back. I saw how I was supposed to be if Frieza had never intruded into my life and r-... ruined me. I was actually King of the Saiyan Empire," he paused as he relished that grand title and its implications, before adding in a harsher voice, "and I was tall."  
  
Not for the first time, Bulma cursed Kami's reasoning behind showing Vegeta his dark future, and what a limited time that he had to actually enjoy it. She hadn't been aware that there had been other things thrown into the mix and none of them appeared to be good. "What happened?"  
  
Frieza happened! he thought with terrible venom, squeezing his eyes shut. The vein on his temple pulsed with the force of his rapid heartbeat. It's always Frieza! "It doesn't matter anymore," he managed to say instead, forcing himself to calm down. "Just... forget about it."  
  
"I honestly don't know where all this is coming from. Krillin and the others have made fun of you and you've never reacted to it."  
  
"I'll tolerate it from them. They've paid their dues but I won't allow it from powerless morons. I didn't put my life on the line and battle Cell to be ridiculed by humans." He glowered down at his feet and added in a voice so low that she barely heard the words, "Especially not in front of you."  
  
There it is, Bulma thought even as her heart gave one fluttering thump in her chest. He doesn't want me to be embarrassed by him- or even worse; for him. And over such a silly thing as height! Oh Vegeta, you're not so far removed from us 'powerless morons' as you like to think. Deep down you're very human and far more vulnerable than I ever suspected. If I ever had any lingering doubts that you care for me, they're gone right this instant.  
  
While she tried to find the right words to say, he drifted back into his thoughts. He was thinking about all of the political functions that Frieza had forced him to attend, and always with Radditz and Nappa in tow; a deliberate display of true specimens of Saiyan height and build. His own royal blood and power had seemed to mean nothing to the dignitaries who always regarded him with amusement and scorn and -perhaps worst of all- a little pity; the dwarf prince who came waist-high to his two bodyguards. It was considered something of private joke and his keen ears always caught every word, every insult, every laugh- filing that information away for a time when the diplomacy would finally end and the assassinations could start. In the end, he got the last laugh but the damage had been done. He was short, he always would be, and no matter how high the body count grew, nothing was ever going to change that.  
  
Nothing.  
  
"How many will be at that Opening?" he asked in an odd voice.  
  
"Uhm? Oh, two maybe three hundred people. It's hard to say. Why?"  
  
All those humans looking at him. Judging him. Studying him. It would be like reliving Installation 15 all over again but this would be far worse. This time, Bulma was here to witness it. Her friends and family would follow it in the newspapers and television reports. He imagined them getting out of the limousine and one person (in his increasing fear, he envisioned this person to look like Zarbon) would point at him and call out, "Look! It's a little monkey! Isn't it adorable?" The laughter would start, it would be contagious, and Bulma would be beside him sharing his complete humiliation.  
  
"No," he whispered.  
  
"What?"  
  
"No. I'm not doing this. Stop the limo."  
  
She was staring at him in complete confusion. "Vegeta-"  
  
"I'm leaving! Make this fucking thing stop RIGHT NOW!" he roared so loudly that the volume actually made her wince.  
  
He's panicking, Bulma had time to think. Of all of the revelations I've seen this evening, this has to go to the top of the list. "Calm down," she said in a level voice.  
  
"Dendedammit- I said-"  
  
"We are NOT stopping!" she yelled directly into his face. "You aren't going to run away and hide just because you've suddenly got cold feet. We are a couple and we're going to handle this together. Now you SNAP OUT OF IT!"  
  
He recoiled from her verbal barrage as if he had been slapped. She figured that no female had ever once in his life addressed him in such a brusque manner before. It was precisely the feat that she was hoping to accomplish: snap him back to reality before he became permanently camera-shy.  
  
She pointed a stern finger at him and pressed on, "I'm not going to tolerate any of your Saiyan superiority bullshit, Vegeta. Not tonight. You ARE going to escort me to that Opening as if you have no other purpose in your life, and you ARE going to be on your best behaviour. You're a prince. At least, that's what you're always ramming down everyone's throat! It's high time you started acting like one. Have I made myself clear?"  
  
"..."  
  
"I didn't hear you. Was that a yes?"  
  
Unable to even formulate words in his fury, Vegeta gave a motion of his head that could have been a nod or the beginning of a seizure.  
  
Ignoring the thunderstruck outrage on his flushed face, she sat back and busied herself by smoothening out the wrinkles on her dress. "When we pull up to the curb and the door opens, you will get out first and wait for me. When I get out, you'll take my arm and escort me inside the Museum. After that I don't care what you do; go sulk in corner, go hide in a broom closet for all I care. Just understand one thing: We came as a couple and we'll leave as one. I'll tell you when it's time to leave and not the other way around. Got it?"  
  
That slack-jawed expression was still on his face but it was getting gradually darker, like thunderheads snuffing out the sun. It came as a relief to Bulma when they pulled up along side of the sidewalk in front of the British Museum. There was a gigantic throng of spectators held back on either side of the red carpet by rope barricades. Photographers began taking pictures as the limousine pulled to a stop, flashbulbs popping like miniature bolts of lightening.  
  
The door on Vegeta's side opened but he didn't react to it. He was staring at her with concentrated hatred.  
  
"What's it going to be?" she challenged in a level voice, narrowing her eyes the slightest bit. Inside, she was scared to death. Was he going to give in or was he going to explode and wipe out everything standing within a five-kilometer radius? The shouting crowd (as well as the city of London) had absolutely no idea how close death came that night as Vegeta carefully weighed her words.  
  
He finally looked away and got out of the limo and stood beside the door, staring back at the throng and paparazzi and enduring their flashbulbs without flinching. When she extended her hand, he guided her out and stood beside her, his arm entwined around hers.  
  
"Look! It's Bulma Briefs and- Ohmigod, is that her husband?!"  
  
"Hey gorgeous, will you give me your autograph? Pleeeeeeze?"  
  
"Ms. Briefs- Just a brief word with your husband-"  
  
Bulma only offered them a light-hearted wave as she and Vegeta climbed the steps to the entrance of the huge Museum. All eyes followed them with single-minded curiosity, pointing at them for emphasis (a couple following behind them was largely ignored). Bulma's status as an heiress to Capsule Corporation, a multi-billion zeni empire, was always a topic of interest in the society papers. It was chiefly the reason she preferred to keep a low profile by hanging around with Gokou and the other Z Warriors rather than associating with people more fitting her status. Aside from one dalliance to an Opera close to a year ago (with the ever-boring Phillip Mitchell Anderson the Third in attendance), the last time she had attended such a hugely publicized event was when she had still been dating Yamcha. He had escorted her to a movie premiere wearing an old puke-brown threadbare suit he had bought at a flea market. The jacket had been at least one size too small on his oversized frame, the cuffs of his pants had been about three inches above his ankles, and the whole thing had reeked of cat urine. The tabloids had a field day over that sight and none of it had added to Yamcha's constant low self-esteem.  
  
Looking sidelong at the man beside her, Bulma could understand why everyone was ogling him with such obvious curiosity. Despite his size, the Saiyan had a presence about him that immediately caught one's attention and demanded respect. The features beneath his dark skin were fine-boned and exotic and he had even managed to style his alien mane into a respectable fashion. The tuxedo he wore was immaculate right down to the shoes. There was even the glitter of diamond in his cufflinks. Bulma felt her heart skip a beat when he glanced back at her, his expression guarded but, thankfully, calm. She thought she had never seen anyone so handsome in all of her life and almost stumbled on a step when his strong arms steadied her.  
  
"Thank you Vegeta," she said breathlessly when they reached the entrance.  
  
"I just did what you told me to do. Nothing more," was all he had to say. He disengaged her arm and walked into the chaos of the foyer where people were making introductions, reporters were mingling, and the sight of flashing sequins on dresses was enough to blind the uninitiated.  
  
I guess I deserved that, Bulma mused without surprise. Still, they had walked the red carpet without incident. Vegeta had been too outraged by her reprimand to dwell on the insecurities that had plagued him and if that caused a rift between them- well, that was too darned bad.  
  
Still, she looked around for him as she walked inside, deliberately avoiding the reporters for now. The huge building was one of Britain's architectural landmarks, housing a collection that was one of the finest in existence, spanning two million years of human history. European Old Master paintings were on this first floor, with rare books and manuscripts, sculptures, and royal collections occupying the other three. Looking up, she could see the guardrails of the darkened sections that had been closed off for this evening's celebration. Just as she started to turn away, she caught sight of a swift blur vaulting over the railing of the second level and disappear into the darkness. Sparing a swift glance around, she was relieved to see that no one had seen what she did. Vegeta had gone off to do what he did best, sulk and she had to submerge a pang of anger. She was on her own after all.  
  
  
  
Pelting down the corridor at a run, Vegeta's feet almost came out from underneath of him when he skidded to a stop, spotting a restroom sign. He burst through the door and went straight to the sink and turned on the tap with shaking hands. After splashing his face with a few handfuls of cold water, he felt a little better. Not much, but at least it didn't feel like he was going to vomit.  
  
He had spent many years traveling in space pods where the close confines and sensory deprivation would have turned anyone else into stark-raving lunatics were it not for the stasis gas. He had never minded that mode of travel. There was something tranquil to the experience; having the comfort of his own thoughts, undisturbed by others. He was a loner by nature and design, and it had taken a long time before he could permit himself to become a pair by allowing Bulma into his life. Perhaps even a trio, with Trunks included.  
  
But this Opening! Bulma had absolutely no idea what this was like for him. Too many humans in too small a space; colognes, perfumes, shampoos; that was just the smells not even including the mustiness of the Museum itself. There were too many sounds of conflicting voices trying to rise above each other. The lighting was dim with constant camera flashes bothering his sensitive eyes. As a result of it all, the lobby, huge by usual standards, was actually claustrophobic. It was all just too much!  
  
Reconsidering it brought the nausea back and he ended up being sick after all. He hadn't had much to eat all day and only managed a few dry-heaves over the sink before controlling his gorge by indomitable self-will. Splashing water back on his face, he wasn't even aware that he had company until someone in the stall behind him flushed the toilet.  
  
Oh great, he thought and his pale cheeks flushed with embarrassment.  
  
A security guard stepped out of the stall, buckling his belt and cast Vegeta a shrewd gaze as he went to the sink. "Buddy, I'm not going to even try to rail on you for being in an off-limits area. You look like you have your own troubles," he said, washing his hands.  
  
Swallowing back bile, Vegeta ignored him and just stared down at the running water.  
  
"What is it? Food poisoning? I heard that the Beluga caviar might be past its date. It looked slimier than normal."  
  
Vegeta went pale again, thinking: If you don't shut the hell up I'm going to have to kill you. Then I'll puke on you. I'd call that poetic justice.  
  
The guard noticed his shaking hands. "Oh, I get it! It's that circus down there. Probably one of your first Openings, am I right?"  
  
"What do you know of it?" Vegeta snapped.  
  
"You think you're the only one to hate crowds?" he released a hearty gale of laughter as he dried his hands on a towel. "Bloody hell, everybody hates those damned things! Everybody who's normal, anyway. Half of the Museum staff got blitzed on the champagne even before the doors opened. The other half- 'ey, just a minute! I might have something for you."  
  
While the guard rummaged through his pockets, Vegeta began to calm down a little. Part of it had to do with the understanding that he wasn't alone in how he felt, and the other was the possibility that maybe it was Bulma who was damaged here and not him after all. The human spoke true- who in their right mind would willingly attend one of these functions?  
  
"Yeah, thought I had them," he said and pulled out a small bottle of pills. "Before you give me the look, these are legal. Just normal Valium tabs. Trust me, mate, if you knew the Curator who was in charge here you'd understand why the staff keep refilling their prescriptions! Maybe taking one might take your edge off, you know?"  
  
Vegeta didn't even hesitate. "I'll take three," he said, holding out his hand.  
  
  
  
When she accepted the fact that Vegeta wasn't returning anytime soon, Bulma began to walk around the outskirts of the gathered throng, evaluating the artwork. The new wing was still cordoned off and the ribbon cutting ceremony wouldn't start for at least another hour. Waiters flitted in an out among the various cliques, offering rich canapés on silver platters as well as fluted crystal glasses of champagne. Bulma accepted a glass and sipped it slowly, viewing a painting with polite interest, nothing more. Most of the works were post-Impressionist and they really weren't her fancy although she could appreciate the historic significance. She probably would have enjoyed herself more if she'd had someone to share comments with. She could well imagine Vegeta's reactions to what he saw; ... Ugly shit. Bad shit. More shit... Perhaps it was for the best he had gone into hiding, but she had to smile at the thought.  
  
"Bulma!"  
  
She turned and saw a couple weave their way around several groups in a direct route towards her. She recognized the woman immediately and fought to maintain the look of poise. Her name was Sally Masters whose father owned several metal fabrication plants her own father often did business with. She was also the gossiping bitch Bulma had overheard badmouthing her and Trunks in a washroom during an intermission at the last Opera she had attended. As if nothing had ever happened between them, Sally lightly grabbed her shoulders and pantomimed kissing her left and right cheek before pulling back and regarding her- every single inch, from hairline to shoes. The tall man beside her was her husband Phillip, a well-known Tennis player.  
  
Sally made an exaggerated gesture at Bulma's dress and declared, "You look absolutely beautiful, Bulma! That dress is just to DIE for!"  
  
"Thanks. Yours looks great too." In actuality, Sally's dress was a bright pink monstrosity with gay ruffles that made her look like an explosion in a cotton candy factory.  
  
"Well, it should! It's a Marcus Target original from Italy. Daddy had it flown up on his private jet just so I could wear it this evening."  
  
"Is that so? Well, it certainly looks good on you, Sally. It has a nice... cut to it."  
  
The blonde woman tittered in delight. "You Briefs always did have a sense for fashion. Tell me, does your mother still wear ballroom gowns when she serves afternoon tea?"  
  
Bulma finished her drink to keep her mouth from making any rude comments and wished a waiter would show up for a refill. Meanwhile, Sally had snatched onto another couple as they were passing. During all of this, her trophy husband just stared vacantly at a piece of artwork, letting his wife do all of the talking. As bad luck would have it, it was Sally's co- conspirator Nancy Peterson.  
  
All we need now is the third bitch to make this a real party, Bulma thought grimly, looking around for an attendant with a drink tray.  
  
"Well, hello Bulma!" Nancy said, not quite having the brazen courage to kiss her greeting as her friend had done earlier. "This is my husband Edgar."  
  
The man, clearly thirty years the woman's senior, took Bulma's hand and kissed it. She had never been so grateful for her gloves in all of her life. Edgar's lips looked like two pieces of raw liver. "My extreme pleasure," he said smoothly.  
  
"Edgar is a lawyer at the head of his own firm; Peterson, Deschain & Allgood, perhaps you've heard of it?"  
  
"Uh, no- I can't say-"  
  
"-He comes from old money. Very old money. Why, he's traced his lineage back to a half-cousin of Queen Victoria herself! We just bought a quaint little manor house out by Queenborough near Rochester. It was only half a million pounds, mind you, but Edgar's family has roots there so we thought..."  
  
Bulma eyes were slowly glazing over. So were Sally's because no one was including her in the conversation. "I was just commenting to Bulma on her mother's tea parties," she interrupted brightly.  
  
"Does she still have them?" Nancy asked with a condescending smile. "I'll have to make it a point to drop by some time and make my introductions."  
  
Suuuure, you will, Bulma thought, knowing full well that her mother was laughed at behind her back by her circle of so-called friends. It hurt her to see her mother made fun of simply because she was an extremely open and trusting person. "That'd be nice, Nancy. She'd like to meet you," she said instead with a broad smile that looked as fake as it felt.  
  
All at once, Edgar seized her hand and slipped a business card between her fingers. "I wouldn't mind meeting your father myself, Ms. Briefs. Do you happen to know who is currently representing the interests of Capsule Corporation?"  
  
"Oh poo, Edgar! This isn't the time or place to discuss business," Sally huffed, meaning that the topic bored her. "I must say, Bulma, I'm pleased to see that you no longer have that hideous perm. Your current cut flatters your face very nicely. Not many women could get away with that garish color either. How DO you manage to pull that combination off?"  
  
Starting to do a slow burn, Bulma said from between tight lips, "I have a talented hairdresser."  
  
"Why yes, it could be that," Nancy said, adding a distracted wave. "I could loan you my personal stylist for a weekend if you'd like. He has the most talented hands."  
  
"Well, enough with all of this small talk! Where is he Bulma?" Sally said eagerly, eyes dancing. "I want to meet him."  
  
"Where is- Oh! You mean my husband." That's a good question, Bulma thought forlornly. Where WAS Vegeta?  
  
"And that ring!" Sally snatched her left hand and brought it closer where she could eye it like a curious raven. "What a-a creative setting. Is that one carat in silver?"  
  
"The setting is platinum and it's two carats, actually."  
  
"Only two?" Nancy drawled extending her left hand and exposing a ring that was so huge and garish that there was no way it could be a fake. "Edgar slipped this on my finger on our wedding day; isn't it lovely? It's three carats and cost over a million zeni."  
  
Bulma nodded once. "I'd wear the original diamond if I could but at over 130 carats it's a little heavy." The looks that she got back from both couples were priceless and the heiress submerged her amusement with difficulty. Point for me, she thought with a mental grin.  
  
"Please tell me you didn't marry that terribly shy fellow in that disgusting suit," Sally cut in, changing the subject entirely while Nancy tried to recover. "Tell me that it wasn't him." The gloating look on her face was plainly hoping that the answer was yes.  
  
"Actually, I-"There was a light nudge on Bulma's right arm and a glass of champagne was offered to her. She recognized those cufflinks immediately and turned with a smile of true relief. Vegeta was beside her as if he had been standing there all along and the look on his face was one of passive neutrality. Not annoyance, but not cheerfulness either. Anyone who didn't know him would have just thought that he looked bored with the whole affair. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet my husband, Vegeta. Vegeta, I'd like you to meet Sally and Phillip Masters and Nancy and Edgar Peterson.  
  
Both Edgar and Phillip immediately extended their hands. Nursing his own drink, Vegeta kept his free hand in the pocket of his pants and stated coldly, "I don't shake hands."  
  
Edgar immediately frowned in annoyance. "Vegeta... hm, that's very unusual. Is that your first name or your second?"  
  
"My second."  
  
"... and your first?" he asked in exasperation.  
  
"Prince, and it's considered a title. You'd best remember that the next time you address me in polite conversation."  
  
Sally's eyes widened (and hers weren't the only ones). "You're an honest-to- gosh Prince? How wonderful!" Her eyes immediately flicked down to his crotch and back to his face again, her cheeks were high spots of excited color. While checking her e-mail before the big event, she had followed the Playgirl editor's advice and 'Clicked here for pictures of Bulma's well- hung mate!' She hadn't been disappointed by what she saw and concluded that Bulma was indeed a 'lucky lady'.  
  
"Indeed," Nancy drawled under her breath. She was clearly NOT happy.  
  
"Which country are you from, Prince Vegeta?"  
  
For one moment, Bulma feared that he was going to launch into his long- winded Saiyan speech until he improvised with; "A small Arabic state in the Middle East. You wouldn't know it. Trust me. I doubt that you could even spell it," he flashed Bulma a teasing little smirk. The lie was short and believable and Bulma offered him a grateful smile in return.  
  
"You two make a... perfectly matched couple," Nancy managed to get out. Edgar had deliberately drifted away from their little circle and began impatiently waiting for her to finish with the small talk. He had been outclassed and hadn't liked it one little bit. "We'll talk some more later on in the evening."  
  
"Oh, I can't wait," Bulma said coolly.  
  
Flashing her an irritated little glance, Nancy extended her hand towards Vegeta as she said, "And it was a pleasure to meet you, Prince Vegeta."  
  
The Saiyan regarded the outstretched hand as one might a distasteful snake and continued drinking without taking it. His coal-black eyes drilled into her brown ones with a look that could have withered solid steel and she took the hint. With an intake of breath, Nancy hurried over to her husband's side and quickly led him away.  
  
Turning slightly on his heel, Vegeta then settled his condescending gaze onto Sally who, at that moment, suddenly appeared to realize that there were other people at this gathering who might be more interested in her and in what she had to say. She took possessive hold of her husband's arm and passed both Bulma and Vegeta a quick nod before searching elsewhere for easier prey.  
  
Vegeta slowly shook his head. "Air headed bimbos."  
  
"For once, you and I are in agreement there, Prince," Bulma clicked her glass against his and proceeded to catch up on her drinking. This was going to be a loooong night. After several moments, she eyed him shrewdly and admitted, "I really didn't think that you would be coming back."  
  
"I just had to use the bathroom. The next time I go you can hold my hand," his smirk had deepened until it almost resembled a smile. That was when she realized things were going to be okay for the night and he was going to behave himself. Hell, he actually fit in better with this superficial crowd than she did and the irony was not lost on her.  
  
She noticed that several of the reporters were standing a respectable distance away. It was clear that they wanted to talk to them but were under strict orders by the organizers of the Opening not to be intrusive. "Well, do you think you're up for some interviews?"  
  
The Saiyan watched as more newshounds began to catch their scent and gather. "Do I have a choice?" he grumbled.  
  
"Just stick to the story and the attitude and you'll do just fine," she said sincerely, taking his hand. He didn't fight the hold, or even try to ignore it. Squeezing it back, the pair approached the reporters with their cameras, video reorders, and questions. Their endless, mind numbingly tedious questions.  
  
  
  
For the next hour Vegeta remained extremely calm whenever a reporter approached them. When he spoke, he used a soft and conciliating tone that was very similar to the voice he used when he was in bed with Bulma. It captivated the invasive reporters, particularly the female ones, and Bulma was actually surprised to feel a vague prickle of jealously whenever she watched the Saiyan turn on the charm. This tactful behaviour was entirely unlike him and the heiress was at a loss of words on what to say, it was so unusual. He allowed photographs to be taken of them and, in a complete turnabout of events, was often the one to whisper under his breath at her; "Smile, you look as though you're attending a funeral."  
  
There was an undercurrent of murmurs as the other attendees of the Opening watched them; some with interest, others with acute jealousy. Nancy Peterson looked like she was ready to explode while Sally Masters kept a respectable distance; she was struggling with a perplexing sense of terror and lust for the inscrutable Prince. This reaction of hushed respect, even envy, from her peers was new to Bulma. With Yamcha, she had accepted the condescension and disapproval his presence had created, not really minding. Hell, she had loved the guy. The impression that Vegeta made on these pompous snobs, however, took her completely by surprise. There were going to be no veiled barbs at her expense this time and she gave his arm a grateful squeeze while smiling affectionately at him.  
  
The time finally came for the Opening of the British Museum's new wing. The Curator stepped up to an elaborate podium and pontificated for the next twenty minutes about the effects of fantastical lore upon modern culture. Finally, Camilla Parker Bowles cut the ribbon with a pair of 24-carat gold scissors. There was a brief pause for photographs before everyone filed inside. The new wing intensified the gothic architecture of the main building with its stone and intricate masonry design. There was an extensive statue exhibit that represented both Greek and Roman mythology and while the Curator gave a brief explanation of the origin and significance of each piece, Vegeta strayed from Bulma's side for the second time that evening, drawn to a statue that was in the corner.  
  
Its marble surface pitted and flaked from centuries of erosion, the sculpture depicted a solitary man in heavy armor and a cape. The serious expression on the man's bearded face appeared to be calm expectation of a looming war, devoid of fear. A memory tugged at Vegeta's mind, one he had thought long-buried, and he flinched when a gentle hand brushed against his sleeve.  
  
"You're thinking of your father, aren't you?" Bulma asked as she rejoined him.  
  
"How would you know?" he retorted gruffly.  
  
"I can tell how your face tightens up. What were you thinking?"  
  
At first she figured that he wouldn't tell her and angrily stalk away but that odd complacence remained and he only went back to looking at the sculpture. "His face had looked like that, when he sent me off with Nappa to become Frieza's pet. I think he realized that planet Vegeta was going to be destroyed no matter what he did. He had given up on his people, on me, and I'll always hate him for that."  
  
"He saved your life."  
  
He stared down at the polished slate floor and muttered, "For what I went through, I would have preferred to have died with the planet."  
  
She touched his face, forcing him to look at her. She was actually smiling a little when she said, "I, for one, am very grateful to your father. If he hadn't sent you away, I never would have gotten the chance to fall in love with you, Vegeta."  
  
"Bulma..." He was at a rare loss for words and she moved in to take advantage of that indecision and kiss him. Just as their lips met, there was a sudden flash beside them and a photographer called out, "Perfect shot! Thanks you two!"  
  
"Sonovabitch," the couple echoed together as the man busily mingled among the patrons and guests, who were all staring at them. The Curator flashed them a brief contemptuous glare and coughed into his fist to redirect everyone's attention, "Now ladies and gentlemen, let me present the jewel of this entire exhibit. The rare Dragonball of legend!"  
  
Protected by a glass case cordoned off by rope barricades, two guards stood impassively beside the display. Seated on its cushion, the one-star Dragonball was pulsating in deep red and orange hues like a round heart. For the first time that evening, Vegeta and Bulma were left alone as the paparazzi swarmed the exhibit and the couple deliberately hung back, strategizing.  
  
"I wasn't counting on the guards," Bulma said under her breath. She glanced up at the ceiling and scanned the walls. "Security cameras, too. I also see motion sensors but they would have to be shut off for this event. There's just too many witnesses, Vegeta. We'll have to come back for it later."  
  
He shook his head. "We came to do a job and we're not leaving it behind."  
  
"This isn't a mission."  
  
"Yes, it is," he told her levelly. "All we need is a diversion. I can faze in and steal it before anybody clues in."  
  
Now she was the one shaking her head. "No one is going to create a scene here tonight- especially not you!"  
  
He had his arms crossed and only regarded her blandly. "Then I guess we'll just see how the night goes," he responded in a composed tone and walked over to join in the rest of the tour, leaving her to gape after him.  
  
For the rest of the evening, the Saiyan never strayed far from her sight. He would drift away when she began talking to someone and come back when she gave off that invisible cue that signaled she was getting impatient with the conversation and wanted to get away. A few clipped words from him was usually all it took to free her. For the most part, he trolled the extensive buffet and took advantage of what it offered. He was never seen without either a drink or plate in hand but at least he was subtle about it. Gokou would have taken one look at the huge spread and done a face-dive in the smoked salmon platter.  
  
Keeping a close eye on him, Bulma wondered what was going through the shrewd alien's mind. The longer this odd behaviour lingered, the more concerned she became- it was all so unlike him. She couldn't help but wonder when he was going to create his diversion and how it was going to be accomplished.  
  
Sally Masters had overcome her fear and on several occasions drifted over to talk to him whenever Bulma was engaged in conversation with someone else. Her acute jealousy returned every time she saw the two together. The emotion was completely unjustified. Vegeta barely responded to the woman's presence, offering only monosyllabic responses if he bothered to speak at all. To keep her sharp tongue in check, Bulma made sure that she always had a glass of champagne handy to sip on. She had lost track of how much she'd had to drink so far this evening and was unaware that she was becoming quite drunk. Every time she saw Vegeta near that blonde, she finished her current drink and reached for another.  
  
By eleven o'clock, the crowd was beginning to thin as couples began to file out of the entrance to where their limousines waited at the curb. Bulma singled out the Saiyan by the buffet table and clutched his sleeve, this time more for balance than encouragement. "I told you that we were going to leave when I said so," she said, her voice thick with the sweet aroma of sparkling wine.  
  
Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he nodded politely. "I remember you saying that."  
  
"Well, the time is now."  
  
"That's fine," he said, setting his plate down. He suddenly scrutinized her carefully, so much so that she self-consciously wiped the sides of her mouth. "What? Do I have food on my face?"  
  
"Your make-up is smudged," he observed casually. "You should do some touching up before we have to endure another barrage of photographers when we leave."  
  
"Fine," she huffed, stamping off towards the bathroom. "I'll only be a few minutes. Don't you move."  
  
"Yes dear," he said in a low voice, his patient smile broadening into a devilish grin. It was a look that Bulma would have immediately recognized if she had looked over her shoulder at that instant. It transformed his tolerant, composed facade into one that looked slightly insane. For the first time this evening, Vegeta's 'badman' persona finally surfaced with a vengeance. He hadn't forgotten how she had spoken to him in the limo and she was about to discover that payback, in this case, wasn't a bitch: It was a pissed-off Saiyan.  
  
The instant she disappeared into the ladies room, he walked briskly over Sally Masters and took her hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you this evening. For what a limited time I had to enjoy it, that is."  
  
The blonde's face fell. "Oh, you're leaving?"  
  
"It's Bulma's idea. She thinks that you're an opportunistic slut who's trying to steal me away from her. Ridiculous really, don't you think?"  
  
Sally's face paled dramatically before two bright spots of color appeared on each of her cheeks. "Where is she?" she managed to squeak out.  
  
"Bathroom," was all he had to say and the incensed rich woman marched off in the same direction that the heiress had gone.  
  
Grinning wickedly, Vegeta sought out Nancy Peterson next. It took only a few words before that woman stalked across the huge room, her delicate hands squeezed into tight fists of fury.  
  
Settling beside the entrance to the new wing, Vegeta crossed his arms and waited for his diversion to start, still smiling that malicious smirk of a born troublemaker. This should be good, he thought and started to chuckle.  
  
In less than a minute, he could hear the words "slut", "bitch", and "whore" reverberate throughout the expansive lobby and people were beginning to drift over to the direction of the ladies washroom. Clusters of photographers and camera crews began to catch a whiff of a potential story and headed that way until all that remained behind were Vegeta and the two guards.  
  
Forcing a look of concern on his face (it was difficult, for the first time this night he was actually enjoying himself), Vegeta ran inside the exhibit and yelled at the two guards, "You have to come quick! Somebody's being attacked!"  
  
One of the guard's glanced at the other. "Finally something interesting! Bullocks to this stupid ball!"  
  
As they sprinted out, the Saiyan hung back. He glanced sidelong at the glass display case, fazed out of sight, and reappeared a few seconds later. "Too easy," he said as he tucked the Dragonball under his jacket, and burst out laughing.  
  
  
  
"I think I'm gonna throw up," Bulma moaned.  
  
"Keep your head down, then. I don't want any stains on my tux."  
  
The pair was sitting on the roof of the Museum. Once he had secured the Dragonball, Vegeta forced his way through the crowd and entered the bathroom. It was an interesting sight that greeted him. Bulma was straddling Nancy Peterson while Sally Masters was on the heiress's back trying to execute a full nelson. All three were hissing and spitting like cats in heat and it took a few seconds before Vegeta, oddly turned-on by the spectacle, to move in and successively pull his bride free. Her hair and dress in a shambles, she clung to the Saiyan as he forced his way through the ogling throng. He released a mild electromagnetic pulse that erased any film or digital images of the brawl. The minute he took her around a corner and momentarily out of sight of the crowd, he flew them to the second level and out a back exit, heading for the roof.  
  
"It was just like that Opera all over again," Bulma was whining. "The three of us in a bathroom at the same time- What are the odds of that?"  
  
Struggling to keep a straight face, Vegeta pulled out the Dragonball instead and offered it to her. "It doesn't matter. We got what we came for."  
  
She considered her reflection in the mystic orb. Sally had pounced on her just when she had been putting on her lipstick and she had a streak of crimson that zigzagged up her right cheek. Her hair was in complete disarray and her dress was ripped under her left arm. Adding the raccoon circles around her eyes from smeared mascara and it was enough to make her want to weep. "I'm a mess," she said, handing the Dragonball back to him.  
  
Vegeta got up and extended his hand, pulling her to her feet and holding her when she started to sway. He considered her rumpled appearance and actually betrayed a slight smile. "You look beautiful-"  
  
"Oh, Vegeta-"  
  
"-Almost as good-looking as me."  
  
She wrapped her arms around his neck, too spent to argue. Compliments from the Saiyan were rare and she didn't want to break the mood. Letting her collect her bearings, Vegeta reached into his pants pocket and looked at what laid in his palm.  
  
Three small, white pills.  
  
It would have been easy to take what the security guard had offered and fall back to coping with the stress of the Opening while on the drug. He had to accept that this high-profile life was the price to pay for being married to Bulma. The effects of the menstrual muscle-relaxants had been enough to slow his reflexes this morning. He didn't want to rely on that crutch. From now on he resolved it was going to be up to his own wits to endure that future, and it wouldn't be accomplished by taking pills. All things considered, the evening had gone by just as he had hoped it would. At long, long last, the fears and insecurities of his past finally retreated into the archives of his memory and allowed themselves to be buried once and for all, permitting him to face the future. It was about damned time.  
  
"What's that?" Bulma asked in a slurred voice, squinting at his hand.  
  
"Just lint," he responded and casually threw the pills away. Gathering her in his arms, the couple returned to their hotel.  
  
  
  
The next morning found Bulma's mother to be in seventh heaven. Dr. Briefs found her in the living room with an enormous stack of newspapers and she was going through each and every one, cutting out articles that related to their daughter and new son-in-law. She was pasting each one into a scrapbook that she was going to give to the couple when they returned. Sitting on the floor beside her, Trunks was playing with the glue and scraps of newsprint were stuck to his face and purple hair.  
  
"Enjoying yourself, dear?" he asked, lighting a cigarette with practiced ease and picking up a paper that hadn't been mutilated yet.  
  
"Oh! This is sooo much fun!" the blonde squealed happily. "I know that Bulma didn't want the press to find out so soon. She wasn't sure how poor Vegeta would react to all of the exposure, but look at them together! Don't they make a wonderful couple?"  
  
"Yes, they do," Dr. Briefs admitted, opening the paper to the entertainment section and seeing a photograph of the newlyweds standing together, smiling into the camera. Bulma was wearing an exquisite dress and the Saiyan was in a tuxedo. The scientist didn't know what function they were attending, but he realized that the pair complemented one another perfectly. "They most certainly do."  
  
  
  
Treating herself to a day of shopping, Chi Chi Son walked down the clean sidewalk of the Western Capital's market square, pushing Goten in his stroller. The baby was sucking down his third bottle of the morning and was already winding up to start demanding his fourth. The child was turning into a bottomless pit, just like his father. Sadly enough, he seemed about as bright.  
  
Buying a coffee from a vender, the brunette took small sips as she took turns babbling to the boy while they window-shopped. "So many pretty things!" she remarked to the baby. "Don't you think so, Goten? You don't see stuff like this in the country. Heavens no! This is your first time in the Capital since you were born."  
  
She faltered a bit and looked back the way they had come. The headquarters building of Capsule Corporation was less than five blocks away. She and Bulma had not parted on good terms and the widow felt some degree of guilt for not visiting sooner. "Goten, would you like to visit a friend? She has a small boy who's only a little older than you are. He's a bit rough, and not nearly as gentle in nature as you. That comes from his father. But his mother is a kind woman, if a bit spoiled."  
  
In response, Goten released a burp that turned heads and grinned toothlessly up at his mother.  
  
Taking that as agreement, Chi Chi turned the stroller around. "I doubt that Vegeta is still sticking around, truth to tell. I imagine that he's headed back out into space, turning helpless planets into ash. When you're older I'll tell you all about him. A horrible man. Just despicable. Why, I imagine that he's broken poor Bulma's heart. Again! Not that I didn't warn her."  
  
She was still going on with her tirade when they came to a magazine stand. Blown up to gigantic proportions was the picture of Bulma and Vegeta sharing a kiss in the Museum exhibit. The caption beneath the poster read: "The Capital's Newest Newlyweds: The Heiress and Her Prince!"  
  
Chi Chi spit out a mouthful of coffee halfway across the sidewalk in shock.  
  
  
  
Nursing a hangover, Yamcha was sitting at his kitchen table in his boxers when he heard the slam of the newspaper against the front door of his apartment. He went to retrieve it, almost groaning when he had to bend down, and went into the living room to catch up on the day's events. He knew he was in for a rough day when he opened up the paper to the society pages and caught sight of Bulma and Vegeta attending some Museum opening.  
  
"Man, I just can't catch a freaking break!" he groaned, balling up the paper and throwing it across the room.  
  
He went back to bed and pulled the covers over his head and stayed there for most of the day.  
  
  
  
Nobody was smiling at Master Roshi's home, either. Android 18 was chasing Krillin around the small house while swatting him with a rolled-up newspaper. "130 carats! Vegeta -of all people- gave Bulma a 130 carat diamond!" she was yelling over and over. "All you gave me was this one carat pebble! I thought you loved me!"  
  
"B-buh-but honeybunch, I love you with all my heart! I DO!" the small monk protested, trying to protect himself from his enraged fiancée.  
  
-SWAT- "Then you get out" –SWAT- "And get me" –SWAT- "A diamond that shows" –SWAT- "You mean that!" 18 hollered. Her blue eyes were blazing so brightly that her gaze felt hot on his skin. "Right NOW!"  
  
"Yuh-yes sweetcheeks. Y-you bet. Right away," Krillin said meekly. He approached the android to give her a kiss, saw the livid glare on her face, and thought better of it. Without another word he left the small island in search of something worthy to present to her.  
  
Standing at the doorway with her arms crossed, 18's sensors reacted to scrutiny and she sneered at Master Roshi who was looking in through the open window. "Don't you have anything better to do than stare at me, old man?"  
  
"Why, no, not real-"the old pervert started to say but the turtle grabbed hold of one of his black socks and dragged him out of sight.  
  
  
  
Seeking refuge from a fierce Himalayan blizzard, Tien and Chiaotzu staggered into a small building that turned out to be a temporary ski lodge for a group of extreme skiers and snowboarders. They were welcomed quite openly and the little telepath remained close to the fireplace while Tien sat at a corner table, sipping a hot chocolate. One of the athlete's had a laptop sitting beside him and the fighter asked, "Do you mind if I look around a bit? I'd like to do some catching up."  
  
"Be my guest," he said, and slid the computer over to him.  
  
For the next hour, Tien consulted weather sites and did a little research on mountain climbing. After that he surfed the Web for a bit. It didn't take him long to discover that Vegeta and Bulma had gotten married. It came as a surprise but nothing to write home about. Both people were hot- tempered and puerile and the fighter figured that they deserved one another. His third eye blinked with interest when he came across the link: "Click here for pictures of Bulma's well-hung mate! 'What a lucky lady!' claims Playgirl editor."  
  
Tien glanced around for Chiaotzu and saw his companion still shivering by the fire. After a moment of deliberation, he hit the link.  
  
The pictures loaded and Tien took his time regarding the Saiyan's 'assets'.  
  
"Hmmm," he said with a vague smile.  
  
Chapter Six: It's off to the Great White North (and no, I'm NOT talking about CANADA!) 


	7. Snow Balls

A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON © 2004 Darke Angelus Chapter Six Snow Balls  
  
Towering above the tundra of the Taimyr Peninsula, the steep slopes of the Byrranga Mountains offered their brooding view of the Arctic Ocean from their flat, uninhabited peaks. This area represented the largest block of unbroken tundra landscape in all of Eurasia; northern Siberia. It was located well within the stark barrenness that so characterized the Arctic Circle.  
  
A lone ship appeared and made a low pass over the region casting a swift shadow on the heath, shrubs, and mosses that carpeted the brown, rocky tundra. A herd of startled caribou, over a hundred thousand strong, made a swift stampede away from where the intruder made its silent descent. A Capsule Corporation hoverjet extended its struts and landed in a field of brilliant yellow polar poppies. The side hatch opened and Bulma walked down the ramp, blinking gratefully up at the brilliant sun. She considered the view for a few minutes, hands on hips, and then turned back to the jet cabin and called out; "It's one hell of a blizzard out here, Vegeta. What's taking you so long? I swear that it takes you longer to get dressed then it does me!"  
  
"I'm coming, woman. Don't rush me!" came the expected response.  
  
There was a multitude of curses and finally Vegeta shuffled down the ramp after her. He was wearing a thick parka over a sweater and heavy snow pants that were tucked into fur-lined winter boots. He had the hood up and cinched tight around his face and only his eyes, covered in tinted goggles, peered out of the dark cave. Looking around at the landscape in bewilderment, he finally turned to Bulma who couldn't contain her amusement any longer. She burst out laughing, doubling over from the force of it.  
  
"What the hell-?" He raised a gloved hand and pulled back the hood and lifted the goggles, blinking at the sight before him. Stretching out as far as the eye could see was an expansive herb meadow covered in lush vegetation and abundant flowers. In the distance an enormous herd of animals were peacefully grazing while overhead, birds were cruising sedately on air currents beneath a brilliant blue sky.  
  
Bulma was still braying laughter and he turned on her, immediately furious. "You told me we were heading north! We're supposed to be in the Arctic Circle of this miserable planet!"  
  
"We are," she managed to get out when the giggles finally began to taper off. It dawned on him that she was wearing a light windbreaker over a t- shirt and a loose pair of jeans and hiking boots. Standing beside her, the Saiyan looked like he should be leading a team of Sherpas on an expedition up Mount Everest. "But it's summer, remember? Even up here. Beautiful, isn't it?" She extended her arms and offered him one of her dazzling smiles.  
  
Already starting to sweat beneath his heavy clothes, Vegeta threw his gloves to the ground in disgust and struggled out of his parka as he retreated back into the hoverjet. Shaking her head in dismay, she followed after him. "I'm sorry, okay? When I saw you pulling on the thermal underwear, I wanted to see how far you would go. I guess I should have told you." The giggles were threatening to return and she maintained a straight face with effort.  
  
Undressing with angry shrugs, he growled, "Damn right you should have. I looked like an idiot."  
  
"So? It was only me who saw you."  
  
He fixed her with a level glare.  
  
Slapping her hands to her sides in exasperation, she sighed. "I swear you have got to lighten up! It was good for a laugh. Get over yourself!"  
  
Standing with his arms crossed and staring down at his boots, he appeared to have gone into one of his sulks until he mumbled out, "What should I wear then?"  
  
"Spring clothes and some sturdy hikers. I deliberately landed several klicks away from the Dragonball so that we could stretch our legs and get some exercise." She was relieved that he had come around so quickly. The lapses when he would brood for hours, even days, appeared to be finally behind him. "And don't forget to put on some sunscreen."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"This is the land of White Nights. This time of year there's about 22 hours of sunshine a day." She tipped him a wink and went back outside.  
  
Staring after her, the Saiyan finally gave in to a puzzled shake of the head and began to get undressed. "What a fucked-up world," he muttered under his breath.  
  
About fifteen minutes later, he reluctantly walked down the ramp and rejoined her out on the steppes of the Taimyr Peninsula. "Much better," she commented, eyeing him with a raised eyebrow. She always appreciated how the Saiyan filled out his earth casuals and he looked particularly delicious in jeans. It was a sight that made her extremely randy. "You know, we have plenty of time to go back inside and fool around for a bit."  
  
He immediately recognized that husky, suggestive tone to her voice. "I'm not getting undressed a third time. You had your shot this morning and you pushed me away."  
  
"I had a headache!"  
  
"Don't sugarcoat it. What you had was a hangover. I heard you barfing in the john in the middle of the night."  
  
"And I'm feeling much better, thanks for asking," she huffed. The amorous moment was shot to hell for the time being.  
  
"I didn't ask," he parried, casually scanning the horizon. "Which direction are we supposed to go?"  
  
Bulma raised an erect middle finger and gestured southeast. Ignoring the apparent insult, the Saiyan began walking in the proffered direction and hesitated when he heard his irritated spouse loudly clear her throat. "What now?" he asked, glancing back.  
  
She had encapsulated the hoverjet and was now holding the shoulder strap of a large backpack. "You have to carry this."  
  
"What's in it?"  
  
"Some gear, a spare change of clothes, and some snacks for us to nibble on if we get hungry." She put emphasis on the word "if", knowing full well that the Saiyan would be hungry within the hour.  
  
"So?"  
  
"Vegeta! It's too heavy for me to carry. There's my delicate bone structure to consider. You're the man. It's your job!"  
  
"You packed it, you carry it," he said and took off across the tundra without looking back.  
  
Bulma didn't budge. "He'll be back," she told herself, crossing her arms and rooting herself to the spot. Her self-assurance began to flag as the minutes ticked by and the Saiyan was showing no signs of slowing down. He was becoming smaller and smaller right before her eyes.  
  
"He couldn't... he wouldn't dare-" she stammered in bewilderment before releasing a frustrated scream. "AGH! Who am I kidding? This is Vegeta! That pig-headed, arrogant, stubborn, son of a-"Sputtering a series of curses, she struggled with the backpack and headed off in hot pursuit.  
  
Sensing her approach, Vegeta sped up his pace until the pair raced across the tundra like that; him easily outdistancing her and Bulma lagging behind, squalling like a banshee. It wasn't until he slowed down to ask her where the Dragonball was that she finally caught up, colliding into him. Her momentum, combined with the weight of the pack, drove them both to the ground. Breathing heavily, she wrapped her hands around his throat and mock- strangled him as she gusted into his face; "A gentleman- would gladly- take- the pack- from a lady!"  
  
Unfazed, he arched an eyebrow at her. "Whoever said that you were a lady?" Without giving her a chance to respond, he grabbed her arms as he kicked up, flipping her completely overhead. She landed on her back and began thrashing like a turtle, trapped by the weight of the pack. Perhaps out of pity (or just plain boredom) Vegeta nudged her hip with his boot and rolled her onto her side. She got quickly to her feet, teeth bared in fury. The pair glared at one another for a long, tension-filled moment until they both yelled at the exact same time:  
  
"What is it about you that drives me completely bugshit?!"  
  
Vegeta blinked in surprise and Bulma felt her anger leave her, just like that. She had her answer and he had his. They were two sides of the same coin; apples and oranges, oil and water, yin and yang. So similar in temperament and disposition that they cancelled one another out to form one solid union of equally matched souls; each making up for what the other lacked. It was the sort of relationship that Bulma had always fantasized about when reading her romance novels. She was careful not to use the word "soul-mates" around him at this stage, but deep in her heart that was what she felt they had become. She was unaware that Vegeta often had similar suspicions, thinking of alien cultures where lifelong mates often boasted some sort of "bond". It was an unknown phenomenon among Saiyans who treated relationships as casual, and often rough, flings. The best way he could describe how he felt about Bulma was that they had a deep understanding bred through intimate familiarity; that was just how his mind worked. Whatever the rationale, the end result was the same: He was married to her and had no intention of leaving her side any time soon.  
  
With their stalemate ended, he rolled his eyes to the sky and wordlessly extended his arm. She undid the latches to the pack and handed it to him, smiling when she watched him put it on without argument.  
  
"Where's the Dragonball?" he asked, staring out at the colorful tundra. It was a flat expanse of land where he could make out the snow-white tops of distant mountains and what looked like a glacier stretching out like a white tongue between two huge basalt slopes. It was barren territory and yet it teemed with life in all shapes and forms, proving that earth creatures were amazingly resilient and adaptable.  
  
Like Saiyans, he thought and then puzzled over why he'd come to that strange comparison.  
  
Consulting her radar, she was amused to discover, "We actually ran past it."  
  
"Are you serious?"  
  
"It's almost two kilometers behind us!" She was laughing as they turned around and headed back. "You know, I never did get a chance to thank you."  
  
"For what? Getting my clothes dirty?" he asked, fussily brushing the dirt off of his jacket.  
  
"I'm talking about how perfectly you behaved at the Museum last night-"  
  
"Uhm."  
  
"-Just like the true prince you are. You impressed everyone, particularly me. I want to thank you for that. And I guess I should apologize as well. I kind of blew it by getting drunk and fighting with the Bitch Twins."  
  
"Uhm," Vegeta said again. He was appalled to discover how close he was to blurting out his involvement in her little brawl. Almost of its own volition, his mouth started to open when she added;  
  
"But it felt kind of good, too. We were overdue for a confrontation."  
  
His mouth closed with a snap.  
  
"Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I'm proud of you," she said, deliberately keeping her voice light. With his background of abuse and insults, he didn't accept praise easily and even now, he glanced at her in suspicion. Her adoring smile erased all doubt and he offered her a mute nod of acceptance.  
  
"It wasn't that awful," he admitted after a long considering pause. "Decent food, decent booze. Not much for entertainment, though. I'm used to gatherings like that ending with some sort of ritual sacrifice or public execution-"  
  
"Yuck."  
  
"-Or orgy." His neutral expression broadened into a gloating smirk.  
  
"Okay, change of subject!" Bulma announced, covering her ears.  
  
He favored her with a dark look. "I did have a life before earth."  
  
"Don't remind me."  
  
"Sometimes you need a reality check about the person you're with," he said sharply. "I think you enjoy deliberately deluding yourself into believing I'm just like one of your warm, fuzzy friends. I'm not. I keep my mouth shut and listen to you go on and on about them until I think I'm going to vomit. I have every right to talk about my past, too."  
  
He has a point, she thought grudgingly, absorbing what he was saying. It wasn't often that he willingly brought up salient points of his past and all too often it was because she shot him down just as he got started. "I know, Vegeta. It's just... everything in your life is so violent and cruel. It upsets me to hear it."  
  
"It isn't all slaughter and depravity."  
  
"No? Could have fooled me."  
  
"Oh- screw this," he snarled under his breath and turned to leave.  
  
Bulma snatched onto his arm and he pulled away from her so violently that there was a sharp rip of fabric where the seam of his windbreaker tore along the shoulder. Things were escalating quickly out of control and she said the two little words that were guaranteed to calm things down in a hurry; "I'm sorry."  
  
Apologies from either of them were rarer than killer comets and the momentary frustration on the Saiyan's face was shelved as he considered her words. She was almost as strong-willed as he was and possessed her own particular streak of boastful pride. Admitting to a mistake on her part was a rarity and he was smart enough to recognize the offer when it came. "You should be," he mumbled out, inspecting the tear in his coat with disdain. "And you should be more careful with my clothes, too. This jacket was brand new."  
  
Biting back a retort, she wisely stayed on track. "You were right; you had a life before earth. What we shared at the Hammorski was a unique situation and I shouldn't have let it prejudice my views about what kind of life you led. You're not human and sometimes I have to be reminded of that. I'm basing my opinions of your past actions on silly earth morals and that's just not fair on you. I really am sorry."  
  
It was more than he could ever have asked for. One look into her deep blue eyes confirmed that she was sincere and he voluntarily let go of the rest of his anger. "Our pact of matrimony agrees with you," he remarked.  
  
"And with you. Last year, you would have flown off in anger and just left me behind."  
  
That serious look returned to his face. "Those days are over," he said in a low voice, almost a whisper, as if fearful that strange ears might overhear his revelation. He did a quick scan of the horizon before pulling her in closer to steal a quick kiss. When he started to pull away, she grabbed the lapels of his coat and deepened the kiss, relishing the taste of him. "You've changed so much, and definitely for the better," she gusted into his mouth. "I love you so much, Vegeta."  
  
Such an admission usually caused him to groan or roll his eyes in embarrassment but, instead, a strange smile crossed his features. He was obviously flattered and at a rare loss for words and could only manage to get out, "Thanks."  
  
She looked at him in surprise. "For what? For praising you or loving you?"  
  
He appeared to seriously consider the question. "For both," he said and suddenly took her face in his strong hands and kissed her passionately. Bulma thought that she might swoon from the intensity of it. Such displays from the aloof Saiyan were strictly reserved behind closed doors and away from possible prying eyes. She had been worried that attention from the media would be the excuse he would need to shut her out entirely during the remainder of their honeymoon. As ever, she had been proven wrong. It dismayed her how little she knew about him, but she would be lying if that mystery wasn't something of a turn-on for her and gratefully gripped the hand that was squeezing her left breast.  
  
Tracing a warm trail along her jawline with his tongue, he buried his face into her aqua-colored tresses and inhaled her intoxicating scent. Saiyan senses were only slightly more acute than humans but when he was powered up with ki those senses increased tenfold. When he was as amorous as he was right this instant, it seemed his sense of smell had increased by a thousand. He closed his eyes and let himself be directed by what his sensitive nose picked up; the faint traces of her shampoo, her vanilla body spray, and her own unique scent. The perspiration from her earlier efforts coated her skin; a blend of hormones that were as distinct as they were feminine. It was especially strong between the haven of her breasts and between her legs. He rubbed the crotch of her pants with his free hand and sniffed his fingers. The distinct odor of her womanhood went straight to his brain and created an explosion of reds, blues, and greens behind his eyelids. She was already damp and burning with need; it radiated off of her body in waves as fast as their own quickening heartbeats.  
  
Whether it was a combination of the extreme latitude or the strange way that the sun seemed fixated in the same place, Vegeta never knew why his senses exploded into such a fevered pitch at that particular moment. All that he knew was that he felt an excruciating shot of savage lust for his bride. He wanted instantly to possess her, to take her all the way with no holds barred.  
  
As he freed his straining erection with impatient fingers, she was already pulling her pants and underwear down and stepping out of one leg. No words were necessary between the two lovers; they both knew what the other wanted and were eager to participate.  
  
Their coupling was accomplished swiftly and roughly. Lying amid the aromatic flowers of the tundra, Vegeta thrust into her with mad passion. Bulma held onto him, grunting each time he slammed his pelvis into her, the both of them panting raggedly. Hungering desire had consumed them both, making even their surroundings inconsequential in favor of this wild act. The world could have been hurtling into the sun and neither would have noticed. Mewling in pleasure as her climax began to overpower her, Bulma sank her teeth into the Saiyan's shoulder when she came, screaming out his name from between bloody teeth. Vegeta's eyes, narrowed to bare slits of extreme concentration, widened in shock. The sudden pain came as a complete surprise and he released a feral howl as he filled her with his thick cream, his entire body shuddering with the force of an unexpected climax.  
  
Her eyes widened in surprise. She had heard him make some interesting sounds at the pinnacle of his pleasure, but this was a first. When the force of his release had ebbed, he managed to push away from her and lied on his back in the lush carpet of herbs. Far off in the distance, a solitary wolf howled a response to the sound of Vegeta's cry. He raised himself on one elbow and scowled in the direction of the sound. Bulma could see that the bite on his shoulder was bleeding.  
  
She rummaged in the pockets of her jacket and pulled out a package of Kleenex's and pressed several against the wound. "I hurt you. I'm sorry but I-"  
  
His face was still slightly dazed when he looked at her. "Hurt me? Are you kidding? That was great!"  
  
She should have known. "It was an accident. Don't get used to it," she said as she cleaned herself up as best she could. "It was just in the heat of the moment, so don't think we can start nibbling on each other when we give in to a quickie."  
  
"Damn, woman. I would never have expected this of you," he continued as he investigated the bite. There was a leering grin on his face. "Reminds me of my last lay before Earth. She damn near chewed me to ribbons."  
  
Bulma immediately felt herself swamped with an inexplicable sense of jealousy. "And who was she? Some interplanetary bimbo, I'll bet."  
  
He shook his head. "She was a soldier. Reptilian breed. I never did get her name." (1)  
  
"Reptilian? Ick!"  
  
"She wasn't much to look at but she did have a tail," he said, as if having a tail made all the difference in the world. "She was cold-blooded, too. It made for an... interesting time."  
  
Bulma pulled up her pants, fastened them, and then snuggled in beside him. "More interesting then me?"  
  
"Until you bit me, I would have said yes."  
  
"You perv, you actually liked that!"  
  
"Don't you forget what breed I am," he reminded her, sitting up. "Remember, you don't know much about Saiyans. We like things rough."  
  
She offered him a slight smile. "I'll be the first one to admit I don't know much about your people. But I'm willing to learn if you'll teach me."  
  
Eyeing her critically, he considered her words. To find someone who was actually interested in his lineage had always been a rarity in his life. Saiyans had been loathed throughout the galaxy and no one had been interested in learning specifics about his unique breed. He had never been the most communicative of people at the best of times. He still wasn't. Fortunately there were other ways of accommodating Bulma's request without having to resort to the liability of speaking out loud. "Will you let me share a memory with you?"  
  
She backed away a little at the suggestion. The last time the Saiyan had shared a memory with her, he had refused to touch her for over six months. "I don't know, Vegeta...."  
  
"Nobody gets hurt, nobody dies," he told her. "You'll probably get a good laugh out of it, knowing you."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"It'll explain why I hate snow so much. Add Radditz and Nappa into the mix and I think you'll learn quite a lot about us. Do you trust me?"  
  
She looked into his eyes. They were at half-mast and remarkably calm; sex helped to take the edge off of his constant anxiety and made him as relaxed as he ever got. "With my life," she said in answer to his question. It was the truth.  
  
"Fine, just let me tuck myself back in. I don't want to get lost in a memory with my dick hanging out." The act actually took some effort. Despite the intensity of the recent act, quickies were just foreplay to him and he was still half-hard.  
  
Once he was reasonably comfortable, he positioned himself in front of her. "Just relax. It'll take me a few minutes to pull all of the memories together so take advantage of the moment."  
  
"What do you mean by-" It happened so fast that Bulma had no time to react. One second she was staring into his face and the next she was staring out at an arctic wasteland. Whirling around, she saw that the Siberian tundra had disappeared and was replaced by towering, frozen mountains so tall that their peaks disappeared into sickly, yellow-tinged clouds. It was starting to snow and the wind was building, making the icy flakes come down at a sharp angle. Holding out her hand, Bulma saw that the flakes passed through her transparent flesh. She wasn't cold and couldn't feel the gusts of wind. Looking down, she saw that she was ankle-deep in grey snow that she couldn't feel.  
  
"Oh wow," she said in an amazed voice. She was not a psychic but she possessed enough knowledge to know that her present form was an astral projection of her thoughts. It was nothing like the last time Vegeta had shown her one of his memories. She had been forced to see things through his terrified perspective and it had left her with a crippling case of psychic trauma. Here, she was a guest and he was allowing her some time to acclimatize to the strange, alien environment. She was so overwhelmed by the strange sensation that it took several moments before she realized that she wasn't alone.  
  
Ten feet away, a small figure was standing knee-deep in the snow and shivering. At first Bulma didn't even recognize him; the uniform was different and she had never seen pictures of the Saiyan when he had been a boy but that flame-style to his hair was unmistakable.  
  
She was looking at a younger version of Vegeta.  
  
It was hard to determine how old he was; Vegeta had once tried to explain the perils of calculating his true age due to the effects of faster-than- light travel and pod stasis, but looking at the heavy bangs that hung over his forehead and the residue of baby fat in his cheeks, she figured that he couldn't be more than twelve years old.  
  
Ohmigod! He's just adorable! she thought, resisting the urge to reach out and ruffle his auburn-colored mane. In her ephemeral form, her hand would have just gone through him anyway. He was noticeably shorter than he was now, with a lithe, rangy build that looked more for speed than strength. When he turned to look in her direction, she wasn't surprised to see that familiar scowl on his face. The line between his heavy eyebrows was hardly noticeable but it was already well on its way to becoming a mainstay to his features. At first glance, he looked just like any other pissed-off, rebellious adolescent. It was his eyes that were the most different. Not quite as narrowed as they were now; they weren't yet haunted from his abuses or touched with madness at this early stage in his life. They looked out from his unlined face with only youthful curiosity, boredom-  
  
-And recognition.  
  
"Enjoying the show?" he asked with unmistakable irritation in his deceptively deep voice.  
  
Startled, Bulma squeaked out, "You can... see me?"  
  
"You've been eyeballing me like I was a bloated tkhrle'n," he responded, crossing his arms in annoyance.  
  
"Do you know who I am?"  
  
He examined her face for a long, meditative pause and then his eyes skirted to the side, narrowing slightly. "...Bulma. You were permitted into this memory for some strange reason."  
  
"That's right! We're on our honeymoon see? And Vegeta- you- wanted to show me a moment in his past-"  
  
"Oh, for the length of Coolers cock- SHUT UP!" he yelled at her. "Why are you babbling all that crap at me for? I told you I was a memory, you silly bitch."  
  
Bulma's reaction to the insult was instantaneous. She cleared the distance in a quick sprint and slapped his face. It was difficult to judge who was more surprised; her for being able to feel it, or Vegeta to be the recipient of it. Of the two, she recovered first and chastised him, "Watch your mouth! If you were my kid I'd put you over my knee and spank you."  
  
Trying to backpedal away from her, the little Saiyan stumbled in the heavy snow and fell backwards. A red flush of indignant rage surfaced in his round cheeks as he tried to get to maintain some air of dignity while scrambling back to his feet. "You go ahead and try it," he challenged. The slap had surprised him but it hadn't hurt. He eyed her warily. "It sounds a little kinky. I just might like it."  
  
"You're just a kid! What do you know about kinky?"  
  
"Hey! I've been with lots of girls. Dozens! Some even as old as you!"  
  
"Yeah right, dozens my- What did you just say to me?" she squawked. The irony that she was arguing with a memory fragment didn't dawn on her in the heat of the moment. She only knew that she wanted to knock this impudent little shit back on his ass. "I'm not old! I'm only thirty-four. You better show me some respect or I'll- I'll..."  
  
"What? Bore me to tears?" he drawled, feigning a yawn. He considered his surroundings with half-interest and then looked back at her with a sly expression that immediately put her on guard. "Actually, you're not all that bad looking. Show me your tits."  
  
I can't believe this is happening, Bulma thought with stunned amazement. I'm trapped in Vegeta's mind and being harassed by his horny mini-me. And damned if he wasn't fixated on breasts right out of the gate. What a prodigy.  
  
"C'mon," his young voice adopted a petulant whine that was both annoying and endearing at the same time. "Just a peek."  
  
"No!"  
  
"If you let me touch them, I'll let you touch my tail," he offered. The fuzzy brown length around his waist uncoiled itself and waved at her in invitation.  
  
"Not on a bet."  
  
His face screwed up in aggravation, and for one instant he looked as if he was going to cry- or scream- but the emotion passed by quickly and reverted to its former solemn expression. "Your loss," he pouted.  
  
Take advantage of the moment, Vegeta had told her. All of a sudden, she knew what he had meant. It would take him some time to collect his thoughts and while he did that, he was allowing her to interact with his past self before the specific memory played itself out. "For what it's worth," she remarked in a casual voice. "You do have a beautiful tail."  
  
He snapped his head around at her and cocked it to one side as he considered the compliment. It was something a puzzled dog would do. She had never seen him do anything like that before and had to resist the urge to hug him. He would have just copped a feel anyway.  
  
"...Really?"  
  
"Really. It's very handsome."  
  
Obviously delighted with the praise, he snapped it briskly from side to side, showing it off for her. "It lets me do amazing things but I always have to keep it wrapped around my waist to protect it. There's nothing more prized on the Interstellar black market than a Saiyan's tail. Especially now that there's so few of us," his young voice went hoarse with emotion and he looked guiltily away, protectively wrapping the furry appendage back around his slim waist. "I wouldn't be whole without it."  
  
Bulma considered the sad sight before her and had to struggle with her grief. Vegeta openly mourned the loss of his tail but she had been oblivious that he had been stalked by space poachers looking for a trophy; much like certain earth creatures being hunted for a rare pelt. Frieza had done more than just obliterate his race; he had left the few survivors out in the open and at the mercy of past enemies who were itching for revenge. "I understand," was all that she could offer. Right now, talking with this vulnerable youth who still possessed a few traces of innocence that hadn't yet been beaten out of him, Bulma thought that she now understood everything about her stoic prince.  
  
The young Saiyan breathed in a great lungful of air and then let it out in a huff. "What's done is done. No sense bitching about it," he said bravely and examined his surroundings with disdain.  
  
"Why are you here, Vegeta?"  
  
"P.A.T.," was all he offered.  
  
"What? I don't-"  
  
"Planetary Acclimation Trial. We're being tested on how quickly we adapt to different planetary conditions. The first one was a world that was one huge ocean. That was tough, I had to learn how to swim. Yuck. The last one was a couple of weeks ago on a desert planet. We broke the previous time trial on that one," he boasted. "One set by Zarbon himself. He was pissed."  
  
It made sense. Saiyans were a desert breed and well suited to the harsh conditions. It also explained why this younger incarnation was much darker then his future counterpart; his face was deeply tanned, the hair lighter – all the result of recent exposure to an extremely powerful sun.  
  
Bulma said, "And now you're on a blizzard world."  
  
He nodded ruefully.  
  
"How does this testing work?"  
  
"It's simple. Even you might be able to understand it," he said in a cocky tone, relishing the quick flash of anger that crossed over her face. "We're dropped off on one part of the planet and have a fixed amount of time to cover the terrain and reach a communicator that was dropped off on the other."  
  
"Well, that doesn't sound so bad-"  
  
"We're not allowed to use our ki or become Oozaru," the boy added gravely.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"This is gonna be a tough one but we don't dare cheat. Frieza would find out and punish us for sure." In an almost conversational tone, he looked up at Bulma and added, "I'm going to kill him some day, you know."  
  
Bulma felt her blood turn to ice and it wasn't from the elements. It was the way he spoke about murder in such a casual, easy way. Already at such a young age, his violent nature was prominent and things would only get worse as the years wore on.  
  
I wish I could pull you out of here right now, she thought bleakly. Take you away from this nightmare life while there's still a spark of innocence left in you. Who knows how you would have turned out if you'd had the same chances that Gokou had? "I think that someday you might get that chance," she told him vaguely.  
  
"Hn. Sooner the better. I hate that kruc'T," the boy grumbled. "Anyway, like I said; this P.A.T. will be harder than all of the others combined. I've never actually touched snow before. Flown over it a few times but this is different. This is really going to suck."  
  
The slang caught her off guard and she had to betray a small smile. "You're one tough, resourceful little guy. I know that you'll do just fine."  
  
He was staring at her in that odd, head-cocked manner again and appeared puzzled by what she had said. Bulma realized that he was trying to decipher her praise because it came so rarely, and felt her previous grief return with a vengeance.  
  
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Are you making fun of me?"  
  
"Of course not. I'm just speaking from experience."  
  
Not completely swayed, he appeared about to argue when he suddenly looked up to the sky. He closed his eyes, nodded once, and then looked back at her. "Our time's up. I have to return to the memory."  
  
Bulma was disappointed but not as much as she would have thought. Seeing her usually stoic husband as this feisty, sad little boy was extremely depressing. "I understand."  
  
He straightened his spine and politely extended his hand in an unmistakable gesture. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Bulma."  
  
Gratified, she closed in, eager to accept that hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, too- HEY!"  
  
Moving with that unnatural speed of his, the youth ducked in under her raised arm and managed a successful grope of her breasts before running away from her, snickering.  
  
"You little creep!" she screamed after him.  
  
Laughing with glee at his own wit, Vegeta pelted up the nearest ridge. He even had the audacity to flash her a roguish wink before he winked out of sight.  
  
"God, I hate to think what Trunks is going to be like at that age," Bulma muttered fretfully. She feared that she had just gotten a hint of things to come. Like father, like son? She was doomed. And so was any female within a six-block radius of Capsule Corp. "Maybe I should invest in a set of sturdy Saiyan-proof shackles-"  
  
There was a loud explosion overhead and she cried out in shock. Looking up, she saw three space pods cut a flaming swath through the storm clouds. The Saiyans had arrived for their Planetary Acclimation Trial. Bulma wasn't surprised to find that her form had become insubstantial again. She was now just a spectator and had no choice but to watch as events, now over twenty years old, began to unfold right before her eyes.  
  
  
  
The three space pods made landfall on the nearby valley. The impact created a pressure wave that blew away the ice and snow in a thick arc, and created a deep crater around each small vessel. Each lay smoldering in a puddle of rapidly cooling slush and silence settled over the area for several minutes before one finally opened its hatch.  
  
Nappa emerged, slowly freeing his huge bulk from the close confines of the sphere and blinked at the whiteness that surrounded him on all sides. "This sucks," he growled, stepping out of the pod and promptly had his feet skirt out from underneath of him. He fell on his ass with enough force to make the ground crack. Releasing a roar of anger, he tried to find his footing on the wet ice. It was a losing battle and he ended up crawling away from the pod on his substantial belly only to be thwarted by the slippery sides of the crater. He would manage a couple of feet up and then slide back down, colliding with the pod. Smashing his fists into the ice, he screamed a litany of Saiyajin curses.  
  
"Use your fingernails, you idiot!" called a voice from above.  
  
Standing at the edge of the crater was Radditz, looking down at him in disgust. He had his hands buried under his armpits and was shivering in wet snow that was up to his waist. His thick ebony mane waved behind him in the building wind like a spiky cape. "Just claw yourself up."  
  
"What the bar'g did you think I was doing?" Nappa snarled back. Still, he tried again and managed to get himself halfway up the icy slope before the other Saiyan latched onto his wrist and hauled him the rest of the way, grunting; "You really need to go on a diet, Nappa."  
  
"I porked it on when I heard that this trial was coming up. I've been on ice worlds before. I figured I'd need all the fat I could get," the bald alien told him.  
  
"Well, it worked. Paint you pink and you'd be Dodoria's twin," Radditz sneered.  
  
Ignoring him, Nappa looked around. "Where's Vegeta?"  
  
Cocking a thumb over his shoulder, the other warrior sighed. "Still in his pod. He won't come out."  
  
Walking over to the third crater, the pair looked down and saw that the space pod was still closed. Cupping his massive hands around his mouth, Nappa yelled down; "Prince Vegeta! We're here! You have to come out!"  
  
The response was muffled but unmistakable: "NO!"  
  
"We're losing time! We have to get going!"  
  
"!!NO!!"  
  
Possessing almost infinite patience where his young ward was concerned, Nappa gave up and simply crossed his arms. "He'll come out soon enough."  
  
Doubtful, the other warrior quipped, "Are you kidding? To him, that pod is bigger than his quarters. He'll stay in there all day!"  
  
"Just wait and see, Radditz."  
  
A few minutes later, the pod door swung open and young Vegeta poked his head out. As cautious as any wild creature in a new environment, he thoroughly looked around before venturing outside of the security of his pod. When his left foot settled down on the ice and slipped, he scuttled back into the ship.  
  
"This is going to take forever. Let's just leave and he can follow our trail," Radditz suggested and was brought to his knees by Nappa's elbow connecting squarely with his diaphragm.  
  
"We don't go anywhere without our prince," the Elite solder growled at him.  
  
Eventually, Vegeta tried again. He poked the ice with a tentative finger and then crouched down and sniffed it, stealing one quick lick. His tongue immediately froze to the hard surface and he pulled it free with a yelp of surprise. Checking the tip to see if it was bleeding, he stared hatefully at the ice as if it had just bit him. He looked up and saw Nappa and Radditz at the edge of the crater and climbed to the top of the spacecraft.  
  
"What's he doing?" Radditz asked in alarm. "If we use our powers Freiza will have our tails!"  
  
"Relax. Vegeta knows the rules," Nappa said calmly.  
  
Unwrapping his tail for balance, Vegeta crouched down and then uncoiled all of his muscles at once in a vertical leap that threw him clear of the crater with its slippery edges. He landed right between the two other Saiyans and promptly disappeared from sight in the deep snow.  
  
Exchanging a glance that would have been almost comic under different circumstances, the two older Saiyans stared down at the hole their youngest member had created, waiting for the reaction.  
  
Releasing a shocked shout, Vegeta promptly scampered up Nappa's huge bulk as if he were a tree and perched on his bodyguard's left shoulder, shivering. "This is ridiculous!" he sputtered, "How am I supposed to walk through shit taller than I am?" His tail, fluffed out to twice its normal size in agitation, lashed angrily from side to side.  
  
"That's the point of these trials, my prince. To test the limits of our abilities without relying on our powers," Nappa kindly offered.  
  
"Easy for you to say. You're eight v'hdys tall!"  
  
Radditz was starting to fidget. "We have to get going! The trial started the instant our pods-"He was silenced by Vegeta's boot colliding with his nose. For the second time in less than five minutes, the soldier was driven to his knees.  
  
"We'll get going when I say so," Vegeta snarled out with surprising venom. "Don't you forget your place, soldier."  
  
"Yeds, my priss," Radditz said in a nasally whine.  
  
Gathering his courage, Vegeta jumped down into the snow and pushed the sides away so that he could look around. He had to jump in place just to isolate Radditz. "Which way are we supposed to go?"  
  
Using scouters was forbidden since it was viewed to give participants an advantage against the local terrain. Pulling out an electronic tracker from underneath of his chestplate, Radditz consulted the readout to isolate the communicator's bearings and then nodded to his left. "That way."  
  
They set off across the frozen landscape without further argument. Nappa took the lead and Radditz followed after him, periodically consulting the tracker to correct their course. Bringing up the rear was Vegeta. The other two broke up the snow for him but it was still tough work matching their long strides and more than once, they had to pause and wait for him to catch up. Even Radditz took no amusement in the smaller Saiyan's struggles, perhaps grasping the severity of this inimitable trial. He and Nappa were numb from the waist down and already feeling frostbite settle in their fingers and ears. Sweating profusely from his efforts, Vegeta's bodysuit was freezing up on his damp skin, making his movements more labored. He muttered a constant stream of curses under his breath with every step, but he never wavered or stopped. Despite his small size, he was the toughest among them- ki or no ki- and at times like this he proved it.  
  
"When I g-get back to the sh-ship, I'm g-going to have a long h-hot b-b-b- bath," Nappa said from between numb lips. "W-won't even add any c-cold water to the mix. I want it to be b-boiling."  
  
"You think you're the only one with problems? I lost feeling in my cock over two hours ago!" Radditz moaned. He had his thick hair wrapped around his shoulders like a shawl.  
  
"So? It's not like you ever get much of a chance to use it!" Nappa barked out and snorted laughter. Frozen snot coated his mustache and lower jaw and he looked even more hideous than normal.  
  
"What did you mean by that, you kruc'T?" the younger soldier shot back.  
  
"Knock it off! Both of you!" Vegeta shouted. He struggled through the heavy snow and finally caught up to them. He had parted his hair in the middle and pulled it down over his vulnerable ears and tied the ends together beneath his chin. One lone spike had escaped and it stuck straight up on his head and was frozen that way. There was snow piled high on both shoulder pads and his uniform was completely white. Even his eyebrows were covered in frost. "If you want to get into a pissing contest about who's suffering here then step to the back of the line. Otherwise, move your ass!"  
  
Radditz backed off. "I'm sorry, Vegeta."  
  
"I don't want to hear it. And I sure as hell don't want to be making apologies to Frieza for failing this trial. We haven't failed one yet and I'm not about to fail now. So MOVE!" he screamed the last word so loudly that it rebounded off of the nearby mountain.  
  
Nappa was smiling with pride at the young Elite's spirit. "Vegeta's right. We're not making bad time. Let's step it up."  
  
Reluctantly, the other soldier obeyed but he flashed Nappa a glare that clearly said; Later, old man.  
  
They had barely managed a few steps before a low rumble halted them all in their tracks.  
  
"I thought you said that you ate before we left the ship," Radditz said, slapping Nappa's broad back.  
  
The huge bodyguard rubbed his ample stomach and cast a sour glare over his shoulder. "Hey! That wasn't me."  
  
They both turned to Vegeta who immediately said, "Don't look at me."  
  
There was another rumble, this time louder and growing in intensity. When they all looked up, they saw a sight that immediately chilled them to the bone (even more than they already were). An immense wall of snow was tumbling down the face of the mountain, obliterating everything in its path and heading straight for them.  
  
"Avalanche!" Nappa shouted and immediately started to power up.  
  
Vegeta barked, "No ki!"  
  
"But, my prince-"  
  
"No time to argue. Run for it!" Radditz screamed and pelted off across the heavy snow as fast as he could.  
  
Nappa started to sprint away until he looked back for his prince. All that he saw of the little Saiyan was that frozen spike of hair sticking out of the snow. Vegeta was trying to force himself through the heavy drift to get away from the threat. It was an impossible task and Nappa saw his young charge actually turn and face the wall of snow in challenge an instant before it slammed into him.  
  
"NO!" Nappa was engulfed by the avalanche and tossed around like a piece of flotsam trapped in an ocean current. His surroundings darkened as snow pressed in on him from all sides, encasing him in a dark, icy tomb.  
  
When the snow slide settled down, Radditz cautiously emerged from a boulder where he had managed to be shielded from the worst of it. "Vegeta! Nappa! Where are you?" The huge mass had erased all landmarks and made everything one barren plateau. He could see no sign of his companions. To make things worse, it was starting to snow heavily.  
  
If he thought that he could get away with it, he would have left them behind and headed to the communicator on his own. After all, he was the one who was in possession of the tracker. Unfortunately (for him) the rules of the trial were as specific as they were brief: Finish the trial as a team or don't bother finishing at all.  
  
Forcing himself to calm down, he wandered the snow pile and was relieved to catch a glimpse of orange fabric. Vegeta often wore some garish color combinations with his uniform but Nappa had suggested he wear his orange armor with the light blue body suit so that he would stand out better in the harsh climate. For once in his life, Nappa's advice actually seemed to be of some benefit.  
  
Seeing that the orange boot was twitching, the soldier started to furiously dig around it. "Vegeta!" He freed the second foot and with one terrific burst of strength, he hauled the Saiyan out of the snow by his ankles.  
  
Hanging upside down, Vegeta coughed and sputtered and tried to catch his breath.  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"Stupid question. Put me down."  
  
Resisting the temptation to drop him, Radditz lowered him gently to the ground. Recovering from his near-death with surprising speed, Vegeta shook off the trauma and got back on his feet and then wandered off a short distance and started digging. He looked back at the huge soldier and snapped, "Well? What are you standing around for? Get over here and help me dig out Nappa!"  
  
Radditz was shocked. "You found him?" He thought that the old bodyguard was lost to them for sure. "Just like that?"  
  
"I'm sensitive to his thoughts. He's barely conscious and running out of air. Hurry up!"  
  
Working together, the pair managed to free the Elite warrior's torso and began pulling on his massive arms.  
  
"Gah! Nappa, you fat bastard! When we get back to the ship you're going on a diet!" Vegeta groused as the pair finally managed to pull him free.  
  
"I don't think he's breathing," Radditz fretted.  
  
"You took a medical course once, didn't you?"  
  
"Well, yeah, a couple of years ago but-"  
  
"So? Give him mouth-to-mouth."  
  
Recoiling from the mere suggestion, Radditz pointed at Nappa's face. "Look at him! He's covered in snot! I'm not putting my mouth to THAT!"  
  
"Let me put it this way, Radditz," Vegeta said in a deceptively calm voice. "If Nappa dies during the P.A.T., we lose. So what's to stop me from telling Frieza that you died, too?"  
  
"Y-you're bluffing!"  
  
"Try me."  
  
The pair locked eyes but the battle of wills was over even before it began. The only thing that Radditz had in his favor was his height. In terms of strength, power, and speed Vegeta held the advantage and he knew how to use those skills with devastating precision for one so young. There was an eight-year difference between them, but there were times when the little prince acted the more mature of the two, especially in times of crisis like this one. Radditz knew better than to challenge him here. If he turned his back to leave now, he would be dead before he managed one step.  
  
Still, he made one last attempt, "If you kill me, you'll be the last Saiyan left alive."  
  
Unfazed, Vegeta told him, "I can live with that, which is more than I'll be saying about you in about ten seconds."  
  
"Aw bar'g," Radditz moaned and knelt down beside the prone bodyguard. He tried wiping Nappa's face with his armband but that only smeared the yellow crust around. With bile rising in his throat, he pinched the Saiyan's nose closed and took a deep breath in preparation to give the gift of life.  
  
The instant before their lips connected, Nappa's eyes flew open. "Thank you for saving me! My hero!" he cried and pulled the shocked soldier in for a wet, noisy kiss.  
  
Vegeta collapsed to the ground, laughing, while Radditz freed himself and staggered away. Nappa sat up, chuckling with clear amusement and watched the younger soldier suffer through a noisy bout of dry heaves. "Oh, shake it off! The ladies tell me I'm a great kisser."  
  
"You slipped me the tongue! AGH!" Radditz sputtered and started gagging. He cast a hateful glare over at Vegeta. "You kruc'T! You knew that he was all right! You set me up!"  
  
"...the look on your face..." Vegeta wheezed strengthlessly. When he looked over at Radditz he gripped his stomach and started braying laughter again.  
  
"You Elites are crazy, you know that?!" Radditz screamed.  
  
"And you Third class soldiers have no sense of humor," Nappa said, rising easily to his feet. He gave the younger Saiyan a slap on the back. It was meant as a friendly tap but the force of it caused Radditz to stumble forwards several steps. In the background, the sight of that made Vegeta laugh even harder. "It was just meant as a joke. Don't take things so seriously! I swear you young ones have gotta learn to relax."  
  
Pouting, Radditz pulled out the tracker and waved it in front of his face. "We don't have time for games. Have you forgotten that we're on a trial? We've used up over half of our time and we haven't even covered half of the distance!"  
  
"Then I guess we better get a move on," Nappa said calmly. "Vegeta?"  
  
"I'm ready," the young prince said, still snickering when he joined them. "Radditz, take point and set the pace you think is best. I won't slow either of you down."  
  
"You sure? Because I'm going to really move."  
  
The laughter dried up on the small boy's face. He adopted an expression that would later become the face of the man he would grow into; stern, little emotion, and set in sheer determination. "I'm positive. Let's go."  
  
Radditz wasn't joking and immediately set a brisk, unrelenting pace. It wasn't long before Nappa was panting from the effort as he tried to keep stride with the younger soldier. When he chanced a backward glance, he saw that Vegeta was keeping up just as he said he would. He had adapted his passage through the snow and was now jumping into each of Nappa's large footprints. The older Elite had no idea how long his charge could manage that frenzied pace but he wasn't going to ruin the boy's concentration and ask him.  
  
"Just over that next rise," Radditz called back to them. "It's gonna be close."  
  
"H-How cluh-close?" Nappa wheezed.  
  
"I mean really close. Right down to the last minute!"  
  
Trying to respond, Nappa started coughing and lost his footing, falling face down into the snow. Oblivious, Radditz continued his mad sprint until he looked back and saw his two companions had stopped. "This is no time for a break!" he shouted, his gruff voice had reached an almost hysterical pitch.  
  
Completely exhausted, Nappa raised his head with effort and looked up at the disapproving stare of his charge. "I can't go any further, Vegeta," he moaned.  
  
The young Saiyan's eyes narrowed. "You can and you will. I'll make you."  
  
"Not a chance. I-I'm all done in. Can't move another-" He released an agonized bellow and jumped swiftly to his feet. Vegeta had jumped on his back and sank his teeth into his bodyguard's tail, biting down as hard as he could. As Elites, their tails were desensitized from being liabilities in battle, but that didn't mean that they were numb to all sensation. Far from it.  
  
"Get moving, you lazy kruc'T! That's an order!" Vegeta snarled up at him, wiping Nappa's blood off of his lips before it froze there. "Give up on me again and I'll latch onto your balls next!"  
  
"Yuh-yes, my prince," Nappa stammered, holding onto his wounded tail with trembling hands. Without another word, he turned and chased after Radditz who clearly saw the fear etched on the immense soldier's face. Drawing his own tail tighter around his waist, he verified their direction with the tracker and ran off again with the others in hot pursuit.  
  
The communicator came within sight just as they scrambled over the steep ridge. Computer sensors had purposely set it on a rocky outcrop so that it wouldn't be buried in the snow. An antenna poked straight up and a tiny satellite disk revolved slowly. It was starting to count down.  
  
"Bar'g! We're too late," Radditz cried in dismay. They were on their last minute and still had over forty meters to go. So close!  
  
Nappa looked back and saw that Vegeta was tramping the snow around him and getting down into a tight crouch. "Vegeta?"  
  
"Get ready to throw me, Nappa."  
  
"But-"  
  
"It's not cheating if you use your own strength. Get ready!" He took a deep breath and then charged at the huge soldier and leaped into the air. Radditz moved in beside Nappa and, working as a team, they both launched the small Saiyan like a projectile directly at the communicator.  
  
"Ten seconds to P.A.T. completion," the computer called out of a frost- covered speaker. "-Nine"  
  
Vegeta landed hard in an icy drift ten feet shy of the device.  
  
"-Eight-"  
  
"Oh no, you don't," he snarled, fighting his way through the heavy snow with the last of his strength.  
  
"-Seven-"  
  
"Because."  
  
"-Six-"  
  
"I am Vegeta."  
  
"-Five-"  
  
"Prince of the Saiyans!"  
  
"-Four-"  
  
"And I."  
  
"-Three-"  
  
"Never!"  
  
"-Two-"  
  
"!!FAIL!!"  
  
"-O-"His snow-covered fist slammed down on the pressure plate of the timer. It released a chime and then pleasantly chirped out: "Planetary Acclimation Trial successfully completed. Congratulations. Results have been sent back to base. End of report."  
  
Rolling onto his back, Vegeta gulped down lungfuls of air in swift, panting gasps while the other two finally caught up and sat down on either side of him.  
  
"Nicely done, my prince," Nappa said sincerely as he lifted the limp figure and settled him in his lap to protect him from the cold.  
  
"I'll say!" Radditz said with a beaming grin. He unwrapped his mane from around his shoulders and charitably covered the exhausted youth with it. "There's something to be said about this teamwork thing after all. Sit tight and I'll summon the pods for pick-up." He pulled a recall device from under his chestplate and typed in their coordinates.  
  
While they waited for their ships to retrieve them, Nappa said in a low voice, "You would have made a fabulous King, Vegeta. One that would have made even Frieza tremble in fear."  
  
"That day may come yet," the little prince said weakly and then slumped unconscious.  
  
  
  
"Oh!" Bulma jerked back in surprise as the ice world disappeared and the Siberian landscape came back into view. It took a few seconds to process the abrupt change and she blinked, looking around, as she assured herself that everything was now real.  
  
Vegeta slumped back on his elbows and looked exhausted. It took a lot of concentration to gather his thoughts and direct them into the tight beam of mental focus required to play a memory from beginning to end without interruption. He was badly out of practice. "And that's why I hate snow," he said when she looked at him.  
  
"The memory went black. You passed out-"  
  
"Only for a few minutes. I was whipped. By the time the pods came for pick- up, I was awake again."  
  
"And you were all right?"  
  
"Just mild hypothermia. Both Nappa and Radditz had to be treated for second- degree frostbite in their balls. Served them right for stubbornly refusing to wear a body suit." He added a brief shiver at the thought of trudging through that snow without protection.  
  
There were more questions burning on her face, desperate to be voiced but she lapsed into bewildering silence, staring at him with eyes that were a deep, troubled blue.  
  
Here come the waterworks, he thought solemnly, bracing himself.  
  
Instead of crying, she released a shrill peal of laughter and fell backwards on the ground, holding her midsection. "Oh. My. GOD!" she shrieked, "Seeing you with your tongue stuck to the ice. I've never seen anything so...so funny in my-my...l-"She couldn't form the words to speak, and laughed until tears began spilling from the corners of her eyes.  
  
"Bar'g," he muttered, glaring daggers at her. After watching her for a couple of minutes, he concluded (correctly) that she wasn't going to be finished any time soon. He pulled over the backpack and rummaged inside for the lunch capsule she had packed. Eating with his back to her, he squared his shoulders every time she tried to speak and gave in to hysterics again.  
  
It seemed to take forever but finally, out of breath and smiling, she managed to crawl over to him.  
  
"Finished?" he grumbled, biting into his sandwich.  
  
"Thank you for sharing that memory with me."  
  
"...last time I'll ever do that..." she heard him mutter while he chewed.  
  
"Hey, you said that I'd probably get a good laugh out of it and you were right. Would you have preferred I cry?"  
  
He looked over at her. "I was expecting it. I'll be damned if I know what makes you tick."  
  
"You've been doing a pretty good job figuring it out so far. That's what all this traveling is supposed to accomplish; for us to get to know one another." She pulled out a bottle of water and drank it thoughtfully. "Nappa and Radditz... they were more than just your allies. They were your friends."  
  
"Ignorant, low-brow, uneducated-"  
  
"-Friends," she persisted. "I 'saw' firsthand how the three of you interacted, remember? You guys kidded around and squabbled like best buddies."  
  
Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Don't use petty human sentiment to try to label our partnership. We were the last Saiyans. We had to work together to survive."  
  
"Yes, but-"  
  
"Time to change the subject, woman," he cautioned, fixing her with a hard stare. It was a look that she knew very well.  
  
"Fine!" she huffed, getting to her feet and brushing off the moss and flower petals that clung to her clothes. "The Dragonball is only a short walk from here. I'll go get it while you rest."  
  
"And who said that I needed to rest?" he cried indignantly.  
  
"You're barely able to keep your eyes open," she said as she pulled the Dragonball radar from her coat pocket. She pointed a finger at him and said, "Sit. Stay. And eat. I'll be back in a little while."  
  
Setting off at a brisk pace, she could clearly hear him behind her as he went back to muttering to himself between mouthfuls. It got her chuckling again and she had to shake her head in amusement. It wasn't long before the laughter dried up as she replayed the earlier events of Vegeta's memory; the one where she got to interact with the little boy he had once been. By the time she reached the six-star Dragonball, Vegeta's prediction had come true: She was crying.  
  
Sitting down and cradling the orange ball tightly in her arms, she considered all that she had seen and heard; a little boy, the last prince of an extinct race, worrying about having his tail chopped off for a bounty; of having to suffer through endurance trials that would have killed a grown-up human; of scheming to commit murder as revenge for what had been done to him and to the rest of his kind. What lingered in her thoughts the longest was the way that Nappa, of all people, had held the boy at the end of the trial. Gently, with great care, trying to protect him from any further exposure to the elements. Completing their strange circle, Radditz had covered him with his mane to help keep him warm.  
  
They were friends, Bulma thought, rubbing the heel of her hand up one damp cheek. For some strange reason, that realization came as a shock; Friends for over twenty years. And when they died, that's when everything changed. That's when Vegeta lost his first battle on earth and later died by Frieza's hand. He no longer had his friends to rely on for support.  
  
He was alone.  
  
"Not anymore," she said aloud, staring at her wedding ring. "Not ever again." She took a breath and said what had probably been a daily litany for the prince when he was small: "What's done is done. No sense bitching about it."  
  
Holding up the Dragonball to the eternal sunlight, Bulma looked at it while her thoughts churned. The first wish was already spoken for; to bring back the city, and all of its citizens, that Vegeta had razed while suffering from Frieza's terrible poison. Neither of them had discussed the matter of the second, and final, wish. There were so many miracles that Shenron could perform; limited only by the wish maker's own desires and imagination. It was possible that Vegeta was scheming to finally get the immortality that he had obsessed about in those awful, early years. But... she sincerely doubted it. She had no idea what he might have planned for the second wish, or even if he had given the matter any serious thought this early into the search.  
  
I could use that second wish, she thought seriously. I could give him back something that he's lost. That thought gave her a measure of comfort and lifted her spirits.  
  
Tucking the Dragonball safely under her arm, she walked back to their little makeshift camp. She felt a brief flare of worry when she couldn't spot any sign of Vegeta. When she had left, she could easily make out his silhouette from the distance but now it looked like he had disappeared.  
  
After wandering around in circles, she finally found the Saiyan lying down in the soft carpet of red tundra plants. He was fast asleep and snoring lightly, with a half-eaten sandwich lying on his chest. It was a rare sight and Bulma stared at him lovingly for a while before pulling her camera out of the backpack and taking a few pictures of him.  
  
As she moved in for a close-up, she lowered the camera and stared at his face. Before she even knew what she was doing, she was parting his hair in the middle and tying the longer strands beneath his chin with a rubber band. Teasing out a few hanging bangs over his forehead, she shaped a lone spike at the top of head. He was now the adult recreation of the harried little boy hiking through an Arctic wasteland. And damned if he didn't look just as adorable!  
  
She managed to shoot an entire roll of film before he woke up.  
  
  
  
[(1) Relates to the ADULT story "A TALE OF TWO TAILS" only available at my web site.]  
  
  
  
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Chapter Seven: The King of the Jungle marks his territory – And I'm not talking about lions! 


	8. Blind Luck

A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON © 2004 Darke Angelus

----------

The tiger clock with the wagging tail and rolling eyes claimed it was ten to five in the morning.

Trunks' eyes snapped open and did a quick scan of his new bedroom, as was usual. He had been moved out of the nursery into his very own "big boy's bed" a month before his parents marriage, even though he was barely a year and a half old. The logic of him continuing to sleep in a crib was ludicrous. That became clear when he not only demonstrated his ability to easily jump out when the mood suited him, but to also break through the flimsy wooden bars when he really wanted to make a point. He was developing fast for his age, with arcane reflexes and coordination skills that a five-year-old human child would envy. But that was the whole crux of the present dilemma; Trunks was only half human and that half was being quickly swamped by his other side that was fast becoming the dominant one. The one that was alien, and adversarial to any change in his routine, no matter how minute.

He was not responding well to his parents' absence. He didn't understand the explanations that his increasingly harried grandmother was trying to offer him as his irritation grew; words of "honeymoon", "Dragonballs", and "private time" were meaningless. All that he knew was that it was six fingers' worth of days (he could already count to fifteen) that his parents had gone off without him. And, in true Saiyan fashion, so much like his father-

-he was getting royally pissed off.

He slid out of bed and navigated the inky blackness of the room easily (no nightlight for him, Saiyan boys learned to accept darkness as an ally early in their lives), heading for the door. The furnishings were alarmingly Spartan for a boy of his age. Against the far was a small desk where Trunks did his coloring and its legs, like that of the matching chair, were riddled with teeth marks. Mercifully, the boy's period of rabid teething seemed to be nearing an end. There were no stuffed animals that survived more than a week of his roughhousing without ending up a pile of tattered stuffing. The few battered survivors; a poorly re-stitched Eeyore, an Elmo missing one arm, and an earless raccoon, watched his progress from their shelf, almost seeming to cringe.

His room was across the hall from his parents and his bright blue eyes sparkled with hope when he went to their door and opened it.

"Daddy? Momma?" he squeaked, craning his small head inside of the dark room. He sniffed the air curiously and the scents (or lack of them) confirmed what his eyes already noticed when they flicked to the king-sized bed. Everything was undisturbed. His parents were still missing. They had left him behind. They had... forgotten about him?

Angry tears welled in his eyes and he sniffed them back, proudly straightening his spine. Little princes didn't resort to immature tears, his father told him so. Little princes could scream until their lungs burst, smash anything within reach, and behave atrociously to anyone they saw- but they didn't cry. Not EVER.

Taking a deep breath, he let it out in a huff and approached the bed, clutching the thick comforter with angry fingers. He pulled all of the bedding to the floor and tramped on it, jumping up and down and making angry snorts until he literally exhausted himself. Collapsing into the rumbled sheets and blankets, he drew them around and around his small form until it resembled a cocoon and he fell asleep that way, comforted by the faint smell of both parents that enveloped him.

Bulma's father found him that way late that same morning. The boy hadn't been in his room and Mrs. Briefs had gone on a hysterical search of the headquarters building looking for the boy. A little more methodical then his wife (but still eccentric as hell), Dr. Briefs calmly walked across the hall and into his daughter and son-in-law's room and found his grandson curled up on the floor amid a littler of bedding, still sleeping away.

----------

"So he _is_ all right?" Bulma confirmed with relief, staring at her mother on the video display built into the console of her small hoverjet. It was a redundant question, really. She could hear the small boy arguing with his grandfather in the background.

"He's just fine, dear-" Mrs. Briefs chirped pleasantly.

As if in denial, Trunks was screaming "Nonono!" It sounded as if he was having a Grand Mal temper tantrum in the living room.

"-Just entering the Terrible Two's a little early is all. He's such a precocious child," she tittered with delight.

Bulma heard something fragile break followed by a staccato of small fists and feet thrumming the carpet in frustrated fury. A rivulet of nervous sweat ran down the small of her back. "Mom, if things are getting too much out of control, we can cut our Honeymoon short-"

Behind her, in the small lounge area where Vegeta was helping himself to a snack, she heard the Saiyan release an irritated growl.

"Nonsense!" the blonde chirped. "Everything is completely under control-"

In the background she could hear her father yelling, "Trunks! Don't you dare-!"followed by a crash of glass.

"-No problem," Mrs. Briefs finished serenely. "So, where are you two lovebirds headed now?"

"Uh..." Bulma called up a readout on the GPS system. "Africa, from the looks of it."

"Oh! Excellent!" the older woman squeaked in excitement. "Could you pick me up a Vegeta while you're down there?"

The Saiyan appeared over Bulma's right shoulder and glared down into the monitor. "Woman, if you'd open your eyes for just once in your life, you would plainly see that I'm right here, and I'm one of a kind."

"Oh, I know that, you silly, silly man!"

His eyes bulged in sudden fury. "What did you-"Bulma raised a hand in his face before he exploded.

"A Dietes Vegeta is an African Iris, a Butterfly flower," Mrs. Briefs explained cheerfully. "It would be a beautiful addition to the Capsule Corp. grounds, don't you think?"

"Hear that, Vegeta? You have a flower named after you. You're famous!" Bulma teased.

"Of all of the humiliations..." he grumbled under his breath.

Mrs. Briefs was still smiling pleasantly. "Can you do that for me, sweetie?"

"Sure, mom. No prob-"

Unable to endure any more delays, Trunks bodily shoved his grandmother to one side and pressed his flushed, screwed-up face into the monitor. He wasn't crying, but he was very close. "Want'chu home! Want'chu home mommy! Right NOW!"

Vegeta had finally had enough of this bullshit. "Trunks-" he cut in, or tried to.

"Now! Now! RIGHT _NOW_!"

"Trunks!" he shouted, making Bulma shield her right ear and glare at him. _What was it about Saiyans always having to scream?_ "How many days have we been gone?"

Without hesitation, the little boy held up six fingers.

"We won't be back for another-" Vegeta showed him eight fingers.

Alarm registered on his son's face. "But-"

"No 'but''s. I have a mission for you: I want you to learn to count to one hundred by the time we get back. It's very important."

_A mission!_ Trunks' blue eyes, dulled by anger and loss, immediately brightened with purpose. He nodded excitedly, "'Kay, daddy! A hunnert fingers for you!" he held up both hands and waved them into the monitor. He reached for the cut-off button just as Bulma was saying, "Good bye, baby. I love-" She slapped her hand to her forehead. _Every damn time..._ She looked over at the Saiyan who was looking unusually smug. "Since when has he been able to count?"

"He picked it up when I started teaching him a kata. He's learned fifteen stances so far."

Blinking in surprise, Bulma felt a surge a maternal pride in their son's accomplishment. "That's wonderful! But... what's so important about him learning to count to a hundred?"

Straight-faced, he responded, "Absolutely nothing."

"Excuse me?"

"The boy needs something to occupy that hyper mind of his."

"Vegeta! He's only a year and a half!"

"And a product of both our genes. Neither of us are exactly under-privileged in the brain department and our brat appears to be following the same track. Whether he accomplishes the 'mission' is inconsequential. It'll keep him occupied to try and learn his numbers until we get back, and hopefully it'll keep him out of trouble."

Considering this, Bulma asked, "Do you think he will? Learn to count that high, that is. Not the trouble part. Being our son, that's inevitable."

"I have no doubt," he wearily answered, to both parts.

She flashed him an adoring smile. "You're a really good father, you know that?"

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, he shifted his weight in his seat. Accepting praise should come as second nature to him but he always suspected it was meant as thinly veiled sarcasm; justified paranoia left over from his days serving Frieza and his lieutenants. "I'm not doing anything that wasn't done to me," he muttered.

"So you could already count that high?"

"Silly woman. By that age I knew eighty stances and was fluent in Saiyajin and Galactic Standard. I'm just going easy on him out of pity for the human taint in his blood."

"Wow, that's pretty impress-" Her eyes bulged when it dawned on her what he said, "'Human taint'? Hey! That was uncalled for, Vegeta! And completely untrue! I was taking apart my baby monitor and rewiring it when I was just two years old! I was dismantling anything I could get my little hands on-" she caught a glimpse of the smirk on his face just before he turned to look out of the passenger side window and let her outburst trail off. He had baited her and, like a sucker, she fell for it hook, line, and sinker. "You asshole," she grumbled, slouching in her seat.

After several minutes of tense silence, Vegeta decided that enough was enough and piped up, "The boy's intelligence is impressive."

Bulma said nothing.

A few more minutes ticked by until he added, "Interesting hair color, too."

Sometime later, he tried again: "And those unique blue eyes-"

"You can try and butter me up all you want to!" she finally yelled back at him. "It won't work."

"It got you talking, didn't it?" he grinned.

She released an exasperated snort. "I've never met anyone who could get under my skin like you do. If I didn't love you so much, I'd slug you."

He rolled his eyes. "As if a weak, little, non-powered human female like you posed any kind of a threat-"

"Agh! That's IT!" She unbuckled herself from her seat and launched herself at him. He didn't bother himself with the silliness of chair restraints and they fell to the floor of the cockpit in a mass of splayed arms and legs. Although he could have ended the fracas in less than a second, Vegeta enjoyed the feel of Bulma writhing on top of him and fended off her half-hearted blows with practiced ease. He could feel his groin begin to stir. It didn't take much. The woman could simply breathe on him and start an erection happening.

"I don't like it when you make fun of me, Vegeta," she fretted, trying to pull her arms free. He had his hands around both of her wrists and the grip, though loose, was as strong as iron shackles. "Just once, I'd like to hear a compliment come out of your mouth instead of your usual bullshit."

"I've already said you were smart. What more do you want?"

"I want to be told I'm beautiful-"

"Uh huh."

"With a fantastic figure-"

"Uhm."

"And gorgeous eyes-"

"It sounds like all you need is a mirror. Not me."

"Bastard!" She brought her forehead down and purposely collided it with his. She had seen the fighters do that move on several occasions, and it seemed to be quite affective in getting away from another opponent. What no one had warned her was how badly it could stun the instigator. It simply caused Vegeta to wince, but Bulma saw an explosion of stars take over her vision. Dimly, through the ringing in her ears, she heard him remark in a dry tone, "So, do you feel better now?"

"Let me go," she said and tumbled off of him when he released her. They sat side-by-side on the cockpit floor while she tried to shake off the effects of the blow. To his credit, he kept his witticisms to himself at this particular moment. He didn't have a whole lot of choice in the matter. Their little wrestling match had started his groin countdown and he figured if he was going to get any chance for 'take-off', he had best shelve the taunts.

For now, anyway.

"Ow. I don't know how you guys can do that move," she said, massaging her aching forehead. "All right, go ahead. I'm waiting."

"For what?"

"For another one of your infamous put-downs about my pathetic fighting skills. Let's hear it."

He appeared to consider it for a moment and then gave a brief shake of his head. "No."

"'No'?" she parroted, eyes narrowing slightly.

"What's the point? You're a builder. That's your skill. I'm a fighter and that's mine. I've had to accept that both Kakarrot and his brat are stronger than I am. Who are you second or third to?"

She blinked in surprise at the unexpected question, hesitating, and he answered for her: "No one. You are at the top of your game, woman. How much more of a compliment can I give you than that?"

It pained him to admit it; she could see that vulnerability deep in the ebony depths of his alien gaze. When he started to look away, she placed a hand on his jaw and kissed him.

The sensual taste of her, mingled in that kiss, lessened his resentment of her abilities; ones he admired from a distance and mocked when they were close together, and the kiss went deeper. Her hands sent curling fingers through his thick hair, moving softly down over the curves of his shoulders. As tongue met tongue their hands entwined, and he moved from her warm mouth, his lips softly searching along her jaw line, sliding sensuously down her neck, to nibble and kiss the softness of her skin.

"We can't-"she gasped. "The ship... it's on autopilot b-but-" A low moan escaped her when he lowered his head and flicked his tongue over one pert nipple. "Oh, screw it."

"No," he growled. "You're going to screw _me_."

And she did.

----------

Sometime later, each were back in their seats and the jet was still cruising easily towards its southbound destination, completely oblivious to the break in human supervision. Bulma was quietly typing into her laptop and trying to find out more details of where they could find the African Iris for her mother. In a rare display of contentment, Vegeta was lounging in his seat with his feet up on the dash, ankles crossed, hands behind his head. Once in a while, his foot would move in time with a particular beat of music that was playing low on the stereo system.

Over the course of their traveling, Bulma tried to introduce the Saiyan to different types of music to figure out his preferences. He had absolutely no patience with the radio with its inconsistent music choices constantly interrupted by commercials and the idle banter of announcers. Remembering the "The Sound of Music" disk she found in his DVD player, she popped the musical CD into his jeep's stereo when they left the compound right after their wedding. After one chorus of "The Hills Are Alive", the disk became a Frisbee as Vegeta pulled it out of the CD player and hurled it out of the vehicle. So much for that.

The same thing happened when she attempted to play Ravel's "Boléro" while they were making love. Mentally, she crossed Classical music off of her list and figured that perhaps this "music to tame the savage beast" approach wasn't going to work. She put away her Zamfir, Yanni, and John Tesh CDs and tried another approach. Given his rough nature, she wondered if he could be a headbanger in disguise and tried playing some Heavy Metal. Halfway into Klank's "Downside", he accused her of trying to cut their honeymoon short by rendering him insane.

So much for THAT.

At a loss, she went back to the radio again, idly changing channels when he started to fidget into his seat. She flicked across one band that was playing John Fogerty singing "Run Through the Jungle" and was about to move on when he caught her wrist. "Leave it there," he said.

As it turned out, it was the simple chords and lyrics of Creedence Clearwater Revival that he tolerated. Saiyans hadn't been musically inclined (and still weren't) and had only evolved far enough to pummel crude drums. As long as the tune was simple, with a good beat, and kept at a low volume, Vegeta could listen to it all day. And that's precisely what he was doing now: relaxing to "I Heard It Through The Grapevine".

When she looked over at him, smiling, she saw there was an odd expression on his face. It appeared to be an unusual mix of amusement and confusion and it prompted her to ask, "What's wrong?"

He glanced over at her with half-lidded eyes. "Nothing. I was just thinking about Trunks and what he did with our bed, that's all."

"It _was_ a little strange," she admitted.

"Not so strange. The boy made himself a hrasa'an."

"A what?"

"A hrasa'an. It's a..." He scowled and briefly shook his head, "The English translation is 'nest', but that's not accurate. It's where Saiyans slept."

Bulma nodded politely all the while grappling with a sudden batch of questions. Over the course of their traveling together, she was discovering how his mind worked; if she launched what he would view as an interrogation, he would automatically clam up. If she appeared only marginally interested, it prompted him to speak his thoughts out loud. "That's very interesting."

He nodded in distracted agreement. Staring out of the cockpit window, he mused, "In the early days, long before the Saiyans defeated the Tuffles, a hrasa'an was considered a communal area where the entire tribe slept together. The Royal family would occupy the center, Elites would sleep in a circle around them, and different classes would spiral out until the lowest ranks were exiled to the outer fringe, often sleeping on the stone floor. It was out of protection, our numbers were few back then, and also for warmth. Nights out in the 'Barrens were said to get extremely cold."

"What were they made out of?" she asked in as neutral a voice as possible.

"Leathers, rough hides, pelts; basically anything that was soft enough to sleep on, I suppose. Mine was made of-"

This time she lost her hold on her act and turned around in her seat to look at him. "Yours? You had one?"

He scowled at her and she had time to think, _Idiot! He was doing so well and you just had to blow it!_ until he actually responded with; "We _all_ had one. It was where we _slept_," he said, as if speaking to a child. "In my time, they were reserved for individual use. Being royalty, mine was huge. It occupied a circular depression in my quarters that was about three feet deep and fifteen feet across and filled to overflowing with cured furs, silks, and other rich fabrics. It was like sleeping in a cloud. When I didn't want to train, I would burrow into the bottom of it so that Nappa wouldn't find me."

She stared at him with feigned astonishment. "You? Not wanting to train?"

"I had my moments. I was very young. And stupid," he growled.

"I'm just teasing."

"Frieza's warship introduced the concept of a mattress to me and I hated them. They were too small, very hard, and uncomfortable. I couldn't sleep so I used to tear them apart and make a hrasa'an out of the bedding and sleep on the floor."

"Just like Trunks did with our bed!"

He made one curt nod. "I got away with it for awhile but ultimately I learned to ...adapt."

Bulma didn't ask him what he meant by his sudden acceptance. She had a pretty good idea who had motivated the change and didn't want to hazard so much as a guess as to how it had been accomplished. She didn't want to know. In an attempt to keep the mood light, she commented, "That concept of a-a ...harashen?"

He shrugged. It was close enough.

"It actually sounds rather comfortable. Your version, not what your ancestors had. They didn't have much privacy, sleeping like that."

"Early Saiyans were gregarious creatures and sexually promiscuous," he responded wanly, as if the topic had run its course and was now boring him. "I doubt that screwing out in the open was much of a deterrent."

"Ew," she muttered and had to remind herself that they had been caught in an alleyway doing precisely the same thing until a disgusted cop broke it up. Her cheeks felt warm on her face at the memory, not all of it from embarrassment. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I have to keep reminding myself that you're from another world."

He released a dry snort. "You just got lucky with me, that's all. You wouldn't have been compatible with anything else out there."

"Ex_cuse_ me?" she asked sharply.

"I thought that you had gotten a suitable taste of different alien species on Namek," he said, almost as a sigh.

"What do you mean, Vegeta?"

"Nameks are asexual; they breed by creating plant pods in the earth. Zarbon's race contained traits of both genders. Dodoria could change his sex at will-" He made a disgusted face at some memory and shook his head to try and escape it. "I'm not even going to get into what the Ginyu Force were all about. What I'm trying to say is that gender lines among other 'civilized' worlds aren't as cut and dry as they are here on earth. What you would consider a male may have female... attributes, and visa versa. Or something else that was entirely incompatible. It used to get damned confusing at times."

"I find that hard to believe. Look at you- you're perfectly normal," she said, waving a hand in the general direction of his crotch.

"You're forgetting that I had a tail," he grumbled peevishly. "It was a very long, VERY malleable appendage that allowed for some... variety during sex." He leaned towards her and added as a suggestive purr, "I know that you would have definitely liked mine. I could make it soft enough to tickle or hard enough to thrust. Woman, I knew how to _use_ it."

She felt her arms break out in excited gooseflesh and had to submerge a shiver. Clearing her throat with difficulty, she managed to ask, "So... how did you know for sure? Which alien was which, I mean."

"Me?" he betrayed a raunchy grin. "I just selected the creature that had the biggest tits and made sure that the lights were off when we screwed." He threw his head back and laughed out loud.

He was the ONLY one laughing.

When he broke off, he saw that Bulma was glaring daggers at him and he did an amazing thing before her angry gaze. For no clear reason that she could fathom, a sudden dramatic flush suffused his dark features; it went from his hairline and disappeared into the collar of his shirt. His exposed ears turned a bright crimson. He actually swallowed.

Just as he opened his mouth to say something (what could possibly top THAT little tidbit, Bulma had no idea), the hoverjet lurched and he tumbled out of his seat onto the floor. He immediately looked around in indignant rage, "What the hell happened?"

Grateful for her seatbelt (as well as the diversion), she regarded the console with concern. "We've just lost our port engine!" she said, grabbing the yoke only to have it jerk out of her hands. "You have to help me pull it up before we crash!"

He leaned in behind her and grabbed the flailing steering device with strong hands while she was trying to steady the aft rudder. "Not too much pressure or you'll snap off our tail," she scolded. "This jet is delicate! You can't be so rigid or you'll' break-"

"Do you want me to hold the damn thing or not?" he shouted in exasperation.

"Okay, okay," she muttered, trying to get a read-out from the onboard computer. In front of them, the flat expanse of African grassland was coming in much too fast. "I can't get any details that explains why that engine went off-line. The sensors are dead-"

"So are we if you don't find some way to slow us down," Vegeta muttered, glancing at the side door. He was wondering if he had enough time to pull the door off and fly out and correct their descent but there was no time for such heroics. The ground was a rapidly approaching blur and damned if herds of peculiar striped beasts were just peacefully grazing in their path, oblivious to what was about to happen. "Woman!"

"I've cut out the starboard engine. We're gliding now."

"It's still too fast. How can you brake this thing?"

"Well, I can pop the aft parachute," she said, gesturing to a yellow button next to the accelerator. "But you're not strapped in-"

"No time!" he snapped and brought his fist down hard on the button.

A bright yellow parachute exploded from the back of the hoverjet. It immediately caught the rush of air and deployed to its full size, slowing the jet with such sudden force that Vegeta was thrown off of his feet and out of the cockpit in a spray of reinforced glass. In less than a second he disappeared out of Bulma's sight.

Shielding her face against the hail of glass, Bulma chanced a glance and saw only the gaping hole in the cockpit, and the rapidly approaching ground. _"!!VEGETA!!"_ she screamed over the howling wind.

There was no sign of the Saiyan and she had no time to run to the back of the jet and look out of a porthole. The jet had slowed, thanks to the parachute, but something told her that it was either fouled up somehow, or some straps had broken off. The jet had flipped over and was plummeting upside-down towards the earth, not even allowing her the option of using the ejector seat from this position. The yoke was a dead stick and she released a sick moan as the flat ground became a swiftly approaching blur. Helplessly ducking into a tucked crash position, she waited for the impact that would leave her a red stain across the grasslands.

It never came.

There was a sickening lurch that made her grateful for her restraints, but otherwise no bone-breaking crash. The jet righted itself and then settled easily on the ground as if it had floated there. Bulma was absorbing this miracle with unusual shock, guessing that the parachute must have finally deployed after all. She was still dwelling on the miracle when Vegeta stepped around the front of the jet, cursing a blue streak: "...stupid, useless, piece-of-human shit, pile of garbage, motherfucker..." he disappeared from her sight, hardly sparing her a glance.

That was when it dawned on her that Vegeta had saved her; not the parachute. He had crashed out of the cockpit, recovered in midair, and captured the jet in a span of seconds. She unbuckled herself with shaking hands and rushed outside to find him standing beside the port engine, studying it. His shirt was in tatters and his hair was a windblown tangle but otherwise he looked all right. She almost knocked him down with a full body tackle and covered his face with kisses. "Thank you, Vegeta! You saved my life! Thank you-thank you- thank y-"

He tolerated that for all of ten seconds and then pushed her away, grumbling; "That's why I let Mirai Trunks save you that first time: You would have made a similar embarrassing scene in front of everyone."

She pulled back. "Always the tough guy," she sighed but eyed him with true relief. There didn't look to be so much as a scratch on him. As she continued her loving inspection he nodded to the engine. "What does that look like to you?"

Startled, she looked down and saw a perfect circular hole was punched through the turbine. It was only as big around as her finger and the edges of the metal were melted. "A ...laser?" she asked, looking down through the smoldering circle and easily seeing the ground through the hole. "Did someone shoot at us?"

"Looks like it," Vegeta muttered, turning to look across the flat grassland towards the sparse tree line. She could feel the heavy throb of his thoughts and knew that he was flaring out his ki, searching the territory with his mind. Remaining silent beside him, Bulma suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable. It was probably how a lone antelope felt when it knew that it was surrounded by a pride of lions, knowing they could pounce from some unseen hiding space.

"I'm not sensing anything," he finally admitted, frowning with true agitation. The short spikes at the base of his neck prickled and rose like the hackles of a dog. It was one thing for him to be stalked by an enemy, but quite another for his new mate to be included as a target as well. He had never felt this protective of her before and was bewildered by how strong that emotion ran. It was just another damnable indication of the domestication he had confessed to Dorothy Pereaux. What other explanation was there?

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"It could be someone simply hiding their ki, or it could be some ...thing."

"An android?" she whispered.

He offered an indifferent shrug but the set of his face said something else entirely. "I can level the area with a Final Flash-"

"No."

"-It'll char anything human and expose anything that isn't," he finished.

Bulma glared at him. "Didn't you hear me? I said, 'No'."

He glared right back. "I'm not asking for your permission, woman. I'm just thinking out loud."

"You aren't killing anything until we rule out that it was an accident."

"An accident!" he shouted. "If that laser had punched up under your seat, we wouldn't even be having this conversation!"

_My seat_, Bulma thought with amazement. _He said 'my seat'. It didn't even dawn on him to worry about himself. _She didn't have time to dwell on his concern. With a grunt, his blue aura burst around him and he was starting to power up. Steeling herself, she reached out and touched his arm expecting to get burnt. Her skin tingled as his ki prickled at her flesh but it didn't hurt. It was like receiving a mild static shock. "Calm down, dammit! We don't know what we're up against!

"You are NOT my keeper!" he shouted directly into her face. Without another word, he whirled and released a blast that ran parallel along the ground and exploded into the gnarled trees of the Serengeti Plain. It wasn't a Final Flash, he hadn't had the time to power up, nor was it a Galactic Gun. It was a standard shot meant for non-powered targets and it was sufficient to level the area and reduce it to smoldering cinders. Gradually lowering his arms, Vegeta surveyed the damage with his trademark smirk while Bulma fumed on the sidelines. "Nice shot, Mister Wizard-"

"Thanks."

"-And just how did you know our supposed enemy was over _there?"_

He glowered at her, not understanding what she was getting at when all of a sudden another laser punched soundlessly through the hoverjet, going right between his legs. It missed his groin by about two inches. All he had time to utter was one outraged, "Shit!" before diving for the ground. Bulma was huddled beside him, unsuccessfully trying to submerge her shrill giggles. The look on his face from his near-castration was one of absolute horror. It was an expression so out of place on his usually guarded features that the contrast had her laughing.

"Now is NOT the time for your hysterics," he hissed at her.

"Can't ...help it," she wheezed, ducking her head into her sleeve.

He picked her up by the waist as if she were a bag of potatoes. He was back to cursing again, "...inconsiderate witch, I fuck-near got gelded and you're laughing your fool ass off..." Which, of course, only made her laugh even harder. Moving with a burst of supernatural speed, he flew them further out into the grassland, disturbing a large herd of agitated zebras that burst apart and galloped away into nervous little clusters. Keeping low to the ground, Vegeta crawled along on his hands and knees in between the straw-like vegetation, trying to look everywhere at once. "Do you see anything?" he called back to Bulma.

The brevity of the situation was beginning to dawn on her at long last. She crawled up along side of him. "I don't know where to look," she whispered breathlessly. "Isn't this exciting?"

He flashed her an uncomprehending glance. She was breathing very quickly and her color was high, her eyes were two sparkling sapphires. "I'll be damned," he said in amazement. "You're actually getting off on this."

"It's just been so long since I've been on a real adventure," she said, flashing him a wide grin. "I feel like a teenager again. This is great!"

He continued to stare at her, frankly disbelieving. How long had it been since he'd last had a companion he could share some fun with? Mirai Trunks? No, too damn serious for his young age. Radditz? Nappa? Perhaps it didn't take a Saiyan breed to revel in some cat and mouse diversions after all. Bulma was unique even among her own kind; a genius, a rebel, a woman who didn't take shit from anybody.

_And she's all mine,_ he thought with deep satisfaction. That thought served to relax him a little. "I'll take to the air and draw fire. We'll both try to see where it's coming from."

"Be careful," she said seriously.

"Feh," he dismissed and shot up into the air like a rocket.

He leveled out at a height of about three hundred feet directly above her. Crossing his arms across his chest, he slowly revolved around in a 360-degree circuit, his dark eyes scanning the terrain sprawled out below him. Saiyan farsightedness was designed for thorough reconnaissance like this; as sharp as a hawk's, he was searching for the glint of glass, a snatch of glaring color, any movement that didn't look natural all the while keeping his mental sense on guard for rogue ki's.

He had been hunted before, this was nothing new to him, but he was acutely aware of a new vulnerability he'd never previously known. One in the form of a brilliant, albeit powerless, heiress who was crouching in the dirt below him. It limited his admittedly few options: An attack could hurt her, a retreat would hurt him. Neither was an acceptable strategy and his mind whirled with other possibilities; testing some plans, immediately rejecting others. This second-guessing was opposite of his alien nature that just wanted to fight first and sort out the bodies later. It was a distraction that, although he didn't know it, left him more vulnerable than Bulma.

As the seconds crossed over into tension-filled minutes, she continued to pop her head up at irregular intervals and scan the horizon. Like Vegeta, she had been hunted before too, and she was experienced enough to know that something felt wrong about this attack. Even more, it felt eerily familiar. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she spared a glance up at the Saiyan and was shocked and dismayed to see him staring down at her. She recognized what was wrong right off the bat: _He can't concentrate as long as he thinks I'm in danger! Shit! What am I going to do?_ She noticed a speck of movement directly over his shoulder and pointed, screaming; "Behind you! It's not on the ground- it's in the air! Look out!"

"Wha-?" He turned too late and received the full assault of laser batteries directly into the face and chest. A small robotic craft with a red bowtie logo on its side slammed into him and drove them both down into the hardpan. They collided with the ground with enough force to make it shudder. Bulma feared the worse when she heard a muffled explosion and saw a small mushroom cloud rise into the air. "VEGETA!" she screamed as hard as she could, leaping to her feet.

When she began sprinting to the crater, something wound around her feet and she fell hard, sliding across the dirt on her chest. Sputtering on a mouthful of dust, she looked back and saw someone walking towards her, barely discernible in the heat haze that rose from the ground. Working at the tangle of ropes from a bolo that was wrapped around her ankles, she saw that the person had drawn close enough to reveal their features and that person wasn't alone.

"You-" she shouted in a mixture of amazement and dismay.

----------

An unknown length of time passed before Vegeta's eyes snapped open and he saw that it was pitch black out. _Sonovabitch!_ he thought with impotent fury. _I've been out of it for a whole stinking day!?_ His entire body ached but when he experimentally flexed his muscles, he didn't feel a rebelling pull of anything dislocated or broken. It was too dark to tell if he was bleeding but he didn't think he had anything more serious than a few shallow cuts. The attack had been designed to take him out with minimum fuss and it had sure as hell had done that!

He continued to lie there dazed and sweating in the heat. Even though it was nighttime, it was still as hot as hell and he could swear that he could feel the sun baking into his exposed skin. Of course that was obviously impossible. He didn't have time to dwell on the anomaly, or his discomfort however. There were far more pressing concerns, the most prevalent being-

_-Bulma!_ he projected as hard as he could. _Where are you? BULMA!_

He strained his mind to be as receptive as possible and got nothing back. There wasn't any wall in his way that would be indicative of her being unconscious (or worse). He was relatively certain that his mind was reaching her but it was very likely that she just didn't have the ability to project her thoughts back. She was neither a telepath nor a Saiyan and unless she was very close to him, he found maintaining their rapport extremely difficult. He got the impression that she was very far away.

Not for very much longer.

There was twisted wreckage wrapped all around him and he kicked away a piece that was lying across his legs and released a blast that knocked off the remains of the engine block sitting on his chest. Right away he knew that something was terribly wrong. Sitting up, he stared at his hand, or tried to, and waved it briefly across his face. He conjured up a ki ball and played it between his knuckles. He could feel the tingling pulse of energy and knew it was there.

He just couldn't see it.

He was blind.

"Fuck," he said in disgust.

----------

Bulma whirled in her seat the instant she heard Vegeta calling her name in her head. On her end, it had felt as if he were standing right behind her. _-Here! I'm here, Vegeta! Are you all right?_

She got no response and tried again, concentrating as hard as the bumpy progress across the terrain would allow her. What she received back was a perplexing sense of rage and frustration. Usually she also got images; surroundings from his perspective, but all she saw in his mind was confusing darkness. She didn't know what it meant and received nothing more even though she tried projecting her thoughts until her head started to ache.

The person who was riding shotgun in the moving jeep swiveled around to look at her and said mildly, "Your alien body-guard is out for the count, Bulma. He won't be joining us anytime soon. I had that war-drone packed with explosives and primed to detonate on impact."

Casting her abductor a sour look, Bulma snapped back, "Why the hell are you doing this? I thought we were friends!"

Arching one blonde eyebrow, Lunch regarded her with wary tolerance; nothing more, nothing less. "You and my ...alter-ego were friends. I've always just seen you as a means to an end."

"As in..." Bulma prompted when the other woman fell silent.

"As in being a rich, spoiled brat with a powerful circle of friends who always had more luck than brains," she drawled, her catlike eyes flashing mad green fire. Her once dazzling blonde mane was now dull and streaked with dark grey hair the color of steel wool. That red scarf was still in there, a tattered, ragged ruin- much like the woman's face, which was a blend of wrinkles and scars. Lunch lived hard and played hard and the past years had taken their toll on the professional thief.

Sitting beside her, the driver glanced over his shoulder and sneered at Bulma once before turning his attention back to the uneven trail of road ruts. He was an immense black man with a shaved head, exposing a startling white skull-and-crossbones tattoo that stared back at Bulma even while the giant looked ahead. He was wearing an old patched uniform jacket of the Red Ribbon army and seeing that red bowtie-shaped insignia roused a surprising burst of anger in the heiress. "You're hanging out with soldiers of the Red Ribbon army?"

"There is no Red Ribbon army. Not any more," said the driver in an amazing bass rumble that wasn't so much as heard as felt. "Your pet monkey, Gokou, saw to that."

"I call it a support group," Lunch said with a crooked smile. "There's a bunch more waiting for us back at base camp. I'm betting that they can't wait to see you."

"Laying odds?" her partner asked.

"Five to one."

"You're on," he said, fishing a fifty-zeni bill out of one trouser pocket and slapping it into her palm. Holding it up under Bulma's nose, the older woman cackled with insane glee.

----------

Vegeta got slowly to his feet and stood with his head down, keeping his stinging eyes shut. He didn't panic. Aside from betraying the odd lapse of anxiety once or thrice in his life, it could be said that he was incapable of retreating into a state of all-out terror. Reacting to the situation with his usual methodical manner, he tried to collect his bearings while he figured out a way to cope with this new liability.

He had been blinded on a mission once before; He had been twenty-one at the time, happily tromping on villages in his Oozaru form and reveling in his power under a full moon. Dawn had risen in sudden, unannounced fashion with absolutely no warning in the form of a brilliant solar flare. He had been caught out in the open with no protection. His uniform had flash-fried leaving his exposed skin to suffer third-degree radiation burns. His sensitive retinas had been charred to ash in an instant. Nappa and Radditz had been in the main city shielded by skyscrapers at the time. They were spared anything other than a shift back to human state that was rendered painful from the sudden appearance of the sunlight. Vegeta had just been at the wrong place at the worst possible time.

_Story of my life,_ he thought grudgingly.

He raised his head into the wind and took an experimental sniff of air. It didn't reveal anything more than what he had just endured first hand; smoldering metal, melted rubble, and the stink of burnt oil. It made him sneeze twice. He wanted to reach out to Bulma again and immediately reined his thoughts self-consciously back. No, he didn't want her to be on the receiving end of what he was presently feeling. He wasn't in a panic, but he was about as close to it as he got.

_No Nappa, no Radditz,_ he fretted. If not for those two, he would have just stayed on that damn planet, screaming in agony while clawing at what remained of his eyes. One of them had knocked him out, Nappa probably, and sent him back to one of Frieza's throne worlds for immediate immersion into a regeneration tank. It had taken two full cycles for the burns to heal and his eyesight to come back, and things had still been blurry for a fortnight afterwards (not that anyone had suspected that anything was wrong. Vegeta had kept that problem to himself, privately worrying that if the damage was permanent, Frieza would find him useless and put him down for good). Only Radditz had suspected anything was still wrong but, thankfully, his terror of his prince had been complete. He had voiced his suspicions to no one, silently watching as Vegeta waved his tail around far more than was normal; brushing it up against nearby objects, snapping in front of him when he walked, using it for balance...

_And I don't even have that anymore, either,_ he brooded, rubbing the base of his spine with a pained scowl. He missed that wonderful extension of himself, just as any amputee would miss a limb. His mind strayed to the unresolved second wish that the Dragonballs would grant and had to shelve that train of thought for another time. It would sure come in handy right now! When his sight had been bad, it had helped him around objects and gauge distances. He hadn't needed to rely on it on training or battle because-

He snapped his head up in surprise. It was a longshot and he hadn't done it in ages but it just might work, just like before...

----------

Lunch leaned over and pulled out an object from under her seat. Not surprisingly, it was the two-star Dragonball. "You see?" the blonde said smugly, "One of the soldier-of-fortune guys I chat online with found this while he was smuggling diamonds across the border. He didn't know what it was." Her bland smile widened when she said, "But I did. I knew that you would come hunting for them sooner or later. Especially when I heard about that little theft at the London museum three nights ago. Nice work, by the way. I just sat back and waited."

"How did you know the hoverjet you fired on was ours?" Bulma asked. She was brimming over with indignant rage at how easily her former friend had laid in wait for her.

"Oh, come on! How could I miss a bright yellow jet with the Capsule Corporation logo painted on the side?" she laughed out loud. "Seriously, I just concocted a radar detector of my own to detect your radar detector. It can't home in on the Dragonballs, but it sensed your radio frequency perfectly. After that, it was just a matter of launching the drone and sitting back until you were left alone and vulnerable. Your alien husband caused me some concern, but he's not as tough as Tien made him out to be." She burst out laughing again.

"Tien... told you about Vegeta?"

All of the false humor immediately dried up on the other woman's face. It became deadly serious and more than a little threatening. Oh yeah, Tien had told her all right. "He tried to destroy this planet. He's responsible for Tien's death. He's killed thousands, maybe millions of innocent lives in his lifetime. Instead of being punished for his sins, he's shacked up with you. He should be hung!"

"He _IS_," Bulma shot back. "That's why I'm with him."

Lunch recoiled in shock and the huge driver arched a surprised eyebrow. The pair exchanged a comical glance. Of all of the answers Lunch had been expecting, it sure as hell hadn't been THAT one.

"...You've changed," she admitted at last, studying the heiress seriously. Gone was that immature, mouthy bravado that had characterized Bulma's personality when they had been younger. The heiress had always been a spoiled rotten, loud-mouthed, moody brat but now there was something else that Lunch hadn't counted on. Bulma was calm, amazingly so, handling this abduction as a matter of course and actually having the nerve for back talk even when she knew that she didn't have one of her precious fighters within running distance. "You've gotten a backbone over the years, Bulma. I'm impressed, not that it cuts any slack with me." She extended her hand, "Give me the rest of the Dragonballs you've collected so far. And the radar, too."

Bulma didn't budge. "What are you going to do with them?"

"It's pretty damn obvious: I'm going to collect the last two Dragonballs and make my wish." Lunch's jade-green eyes dulled and she looked away, her profile was distant and sad when she said in a softer voice, "Nothing was the same after your alien lunatic invaded the earth. Tien died, and when he came back he was... different. He didn't love me any more. I'm going to change that."

"It's a bad idea, Lunch," she said sadly.

"Shenron can do anything!"

"You can't make a wish that will change someone's feelings for you!" Bulma snapped. "That's not how they work!"

"Fine," the other woman said coldly, eyeing her with brilliant resentment. "But they can change time, can't they?"

Bulma felt her body grow cold with dawning realization. "No..."

Lunch nodded, her mind suddenly made up. "If I can't change my Tien then I'll change time. I'm going to make the Saiyan invasion never happen by wishing your man dead. How's that sound, you bitch?"

Shaking her head, Bulma could only come up with a weak denial. Trying to explain the consequences of that disastrous wish would be fruitless, the newfound resolve was clear on the woman's face. No Vegeta, no Trunks- no advance warning for the Z Fighters to prepare themselves against an enemy that made the Saiyans look like pushovers. If Bulma tried to elaborate on the tale of Mirai Trunks and the Androids taking over the earth, Lunch would look at her as if she were crazy. And rightly so. If not for her own firsthand experiences, Bulma would have been the exact same way. "You can't do that," was all she could think of saying. It came out sounding like a petulant whine.

"Watch me," came the cold response. Lunch was through screwing around. She replaced the Dragonball under her seat and pulled out her favorite Uzi. "Now hand everything over. I'll let you go once I've finished what I started, I can promise you that much. How many broken bones and bruises you'll have by then depends on how cooperative you'll be."

"All I have is the radar," Bulma admitted, fishing the oversized stopwatch-styled device out of her pocket and giving it to her.

"A likely story," Lunch sneered. "You hoard those damn things as if you created them yourself."

"No, seriously! Vegeta has the capsule containing the Dragonballs we've collected tucked away in his front pocket. You like to call him my 'alien bodyguard' and, in a way, that's what he is. There's no safer place for them."

The pair locked eyes for one long spiteful moment and, of the two, Lunch ended up blinking first. She wondered if the heiress had managed to become a convincing liar in addition to becoming braver and decided against it; no one changed THAT much.

She turned to her driver and barked out two simple words that filled Bulma (who, indeed, HAD been lying) with a sense of unimpressionable relief;

"Turn around."

----------

Sweating and cursing, Vegeta stumbled and tripped his way through thick sagebrush and prickly thorn bushes. He was deliberately following the scent of jeep exhaust, and that meant that he couldn't chance flying without risking the possibility of losing that scent trail. He was also noticeably limping.

During his hike, he had stepped directly into a meercat burrow and nearly broken his ankle. The area where he had fallen was now a charred ruin and far behind him. If Bulma had insight into his present mindset, she would be far more worried than she was. For every minute that passed, his fury was steadily growing- building deep within him like floodwaters attacking a defective dam. That rage didn't show on the rigid set of his intense features and that was alarming enough; when he played what Bulma called "his poker face" it meant that he was preparing for the worst.

After collecting his bearings, he had managed to back track and find his way to the hoverjet. Fumbling around the cramped interior, he had cleaned himself up in the small bathroom, drank about a gallon of water, and- operating at the height of vanity- even changed his burnt and ripped clothes, hoping against hope that his wife hadn't slipped in some of those brightly colored rags she was so fond of into his wardrobe when he hadn't been looking. It was her style. The thought of him stumbling across the Serengeti dressed in lime green pants and a pink shirt (again!) made him cringe. He had a water-soaked bandage wrapped around his eyes and a baseball cap pulled down low on his face, shielding him from any more sun exposure. He was sure that Bulma had a few senzu beans packed away in her luggage somewhere but was clueless where they could be. It would be up to her to find them when they were reunited. Thankfully, he wasn't in much pain. His injuries would have to be far worse to even register as anything more than an annoyance. It was the loss of his sight that was posing the biggest problem but, already, he was coming to terms with it.

Every so often he stopped and released a low pulse of ki that radiated outwards in a circle from his still form to a distance of about two hundred feet. In his mind, a picture came up of the local topography, showing him where that force had brushed up a tree, rock or bush. It was a crude form of radar and it was surprisingly effective. He was able to sidestep an obstacle without running into it. Back when his sight had still been bad, he had encased himself in this aura during training. That, and his own well-honed fighting sense, hadn't made anyone the wiser that anything was wrong. Unfortunately, such control was extremely draining and it wasn't much good at detecting burrows, either...

Sweating profusely in the hot, cloying air, he considered what his latest pulse revealed of the local terrain. His dark brows furrowed in concentration. To his right, just as the leading edge of his power release had dissipated, he had registered something large over there. He turned towards it, hands held low and ready to stop any brush that might spring up and nail him in the crotch (it had already happened twice). Mentally counting his steps, he stopped after fifty and released another pulse.

Yes, there was something there. It was very large and roughly rectangular in shape. Was it a jeep? Was someone parked there watching him in silence?

-Bulma? he sent, frowning that the uneasy note contained in his mental voice. "Who's over there?" he called out loud. "Answer me!"

He heard a rough snort and faced it, widening his stance and clenching his fists. "Whoever you are, you're going to regret pissing me off!"

Regarding him with bewildered animosity, a large bull rhino stamped its foot in the ground and snorted again in warning. It squinted myopically at the screaming intruder and flapped its ears, lowering its head and exposing a horn that was roughly three-feet long and sharp as a spear. The rhino was pretty pissed off, too. It was mating season and he was horny as hell with no females in sight. If this raving intruder wanted a challenge, so be it.

Another pulse of ki revealed that the jeep was moving towards him, but for some reason its engine sounded like the thudding of massive hooves. Too late Vegeta realized his opponent wasn't human. He had time to release two power blasts, both woefully off target, before an enraged, heavily armored mammal weighing nearly a full ton slammed into him head-on.

----------

_Vegeta!_ Bulma jerked upright in her seat as her mind was assaulted with what resembled fireworks for a brief instant. It was the same lightshow she had endured when she had knocked skulls with the Saiyan earlier. _- Where are you? What's going on?_

His voice came back to her, distorted from the distance between them but still audible _-... not ...good time ...busy...- _It faded back out but hearing it filled her with relief. He was all right. She released a breath of air that she'd been holding in for quite awhile.

Lunch carefully eyeballed the woman while her face twisted up into a pained rictus of rage and jealousy. She had always been envious of the odd hair-colored twit and her carefree way of falling ass-backwards into the most ludicrous luck imaginable. It just wasn't fair! She was rich beyond belief, a friggin' genius, and a magnet for men. Now she was married to an alien prince who had enough power to make her beloved Tien look like a weakling. It had to end and it had to end _right now_!

Baring her teeth, she slid the lever back and cocked the gun into semi-automatic mode, pointing it at Bulma. The sudden terrified awareness on the other woman's face filled Lunch with a sense of indescribable joy. "End of the line for you. No lucky rescue this time-"

"AHH! Holy shit-!" the driver screamed as a rhino fell out of the sky and landed directly in their path. He wrenched the steering wheel hard to the right and the jeep bucked up on its side wheels and fell over on its side, skidding in the grass. Bulma dove out, tumbled head over heels for a moment, and tried to collect her bearings. She was certain that Vegeta was nearby because, the last she'd heard, rhinos hadn't yet mastered the ability to fly. "Vegeta, where are you?" she yelled.

She thought that she could see a bright spot of color charging through the dense undergrowth. It had to be him. For some reason he seemed to be running in the wrong direction. "I'm here! Where are YOU?" he shouted back.

"HERE!" she screamed.

_- You're going to have to be more specific!_ he said directly into her mind.

"What-?" a hand gripped her ankle and she saw that Lunch had a firm hold of her and was pawing for the Uzi where she had dropped it. Barely thinking, she threw a handful of dirt into the blonde's face. Lunch sputtered, trying to wipe the irritation away from her nose, but it was too late.

She sneezed.

A second later, the brassy thief was replaced by a bewildered, purple-haired woman who immediately recognized Bulma with her wide, beautiful eyes. "Bulma? Bulma Briefs? Hi there! Long time no see!"

"Hi Lunch," Bulma muttered, pulling herself up into a sitting position. Her right hand was squeezed into a fist and she had to submerge the impulse to clobber her. This side of the woman's split personality was a complete opposite to the other dominant, crazed part of her psyche. All that this lady wanted to do was bake cookies and sew doilies. She was no threat and, reluctantly, Bulma lowered her hand.

Still wiping the dirt from her nose, Lunch sneezed again. It was like some strange warped gift from the gods. Those slanted cat eyes zeroed in on Bulma with complete hatred. "You-"she whipped her left arm back.

"Psycho bitch!" Bulma screamed and plowed her fist directly into the woman's face at the same time that Lunch's fist collided with her jaw. The both of them keeled over in the dirt, sprawling atop one another, out cold.

_Well, that's just great,_ Vegeta was thinking to himself, having seen most it through his wife's eyes. Now she was unconscious and he was back to being as blind as a bat. _Just fucking great! _

"Little man," a bass rumble sounded from nearby.

Instinctively releasing a ki pulse, Vegeta zeroed in on the ex-soldier with ridiculous ease, turning to face him. He could sense the barest hint of fighting ki radiating from the human and it was all that he needed to stay focused on his target. It was like a beacon standing out in the darkness of his mind.

Jake, the ex-soldier-tuned-mercenary, eyed the younger man with an experienced eye and took note of the injuries he saw right off the bat. The bandaged eyes, the slight limp, and a darkening bruise on his left cheek (from his rhino collision) that was bleeding. This was the threatening alien that Lunch had been warning them about? He was barely five feet tall, injured, and_ ...what the hell was it with that ridiculous hat he was wearing?_

Shrugging to himself, he moved in quickly with the intent to get this over and done with. He punched out directly, not bothering with the usual leg work and finesse, and was shocked to see the small man duck easily under it. Vegeta feinted to the side and then dropped down into a crouch, doing a low sideswipe with his left leg and knocking the larger man off his feet. A quick elbow strike into the diaphragm, and it was all over. It took all of six seconds.

_If I'd had my sight, it would only have taken two,_ Vegeta thought, getting slowly to his feet. He wandered away, trying to get a fix on where Bulma was lying, not bothering to make sure if the ex-soldier was down for good. It was a potentially fatal error. Underneath of his battered army jacket, Jake was wearing his flak vest and it had saved him from the worst of the chest blow. He rolled over onto his belly and forced himself to his hands and knees, getting ready to tackle the little creep who had made the mistake of turning his back to him. _Here I come, little man_, he thought.

Lying a few feet away, the rhino released a dazed grunt and raised its immense head, giving it a few brisk shakes. He stared blearily around, blinking dumbly, and then saw something large, and on all fours, within charging distance. His amorous instincts immediately took over. Clambering to his feet, the bull released a trumpeting love call and trotted happily over to poor Jake.

The ex-soldier saw that huge hulk of armor with the three-foot horn lumbering towards him and gave up all ambitions for battle. He had also caught sight of something else that the rhino possessed that was just as long as his horn and knew that he wanted no part of _THAT_ either. Screaming at the top of his lungs, Jake sprinted off across the grasslands as fast as he could, chased by the love-struck rhino.

To Vegeta's ears, it all sounded potentially entertaining but he was hot, sore, and tired. He tuned out the excitement and tried to focus in on Bulma's thoughts. She was slowly coming to and he took his time closing the distance between then until he stumbled over her legs and fell sprawling. _No ki,_ he reminded himself, struggling with his fierce temper. _The woman has absolutely no ki at all. I have to remember that._ "Bulma, shake it off. Wake up!"

"...uhm? Ow! My face hurts!" Bulma said in a fuzzy voice, pawing at her jawline where a bruise was rising.

_-Welcome to the club_, Vegeta thought tiredly and stiffened when he felt the metal barrel of a gun press up against his left temple. Someone else without a ki presence had managed to sneak up on him. Things being as they were, he supposed it really wasn't all that hard to do. "And who the hell are you?" he asked, almost as a sigh.

"Old family friend, Pinky," Lunch said, wiping blood away from her split lip. "Bulma and I go way back."

"Put the gun down!" he heard Bulma holler. She was finally awake now. It was about damned time.

_- Keep your eyes focused on us,_ Vegeta told her directly. - _Don't look around._

She noticed his face for the first time. Her gaze sharpened on the dirty bandage wrapped around his face and refused to budge from there. _-Woman!_ he barked directly into her stunned mind. _-Focus on us both! I need to see through your eyes!_

_God, he looks like hell,_ he caught flashing through her stunned mind but she did as he asked. Looking out through her own perfect sight, he clearly saw where the woman, a blonde, was sitting on his right holding an ugly, snub-nosed gun against his head. His initial irritation at being caught so easily deepened into a serious rage. Images from Installation 15 flashed across his mind, shared by Bulma who had never been told exactly what he had gone through while a prisoner there. Right now, this very instant, she finally understood precisely how he had received the bullet wounds on his back; It had been a desperate escape attempt that had gone terribly wrong. He felt her recoil from the scene in horror.

_You -you never told me!_ her shocked mental voice rasped.

_- It just went downhill from there,_ was all he offered her and closed his mind with renewed control, leaving behind only that rabid hatred of projectile weapons.

His hand was blur and seized the cold metal of the weapon's snout, clamping down and compressing the barrel and metal casing together under strong fingers. Lunch tried to pull the trigger but the barrel was warped and the trigger wouldn't budge. He wrenched the weapon away from her and threw it out into the grass. Using Bulma's eyes as his guide, he wrapped those same fingers around the woman's throat and pulled her in close, inhaling her scent. He expected the usual odors of sweat and deodorant but was surprised by the lack of fear. There wasn't so much as one hint of it. "Who are you?" he asked in bewilderment.

Lunch was trying to dig her claws into the Saiyan's arm but he was slightly powered up and all she managed to do was break several nails. She hissed and sputtered in rage, trying to pull away from his firm grip, but didn't betray one single word.

"Her name is Lunch," Bulma said sadly. "She is... _was_ a friend of mine from way back. She's Tien's girlfriend."

"Girlfriend? I thought that three-eyed freak was gay?"

"That's a lie!" Lunch screamed and spat in his face.

Wiping away the slick moisture with a low snarl of disgust, he slammed her down into the ground and began choking the life out of her. She gargled and clawed at her neck as her face turned blue, releasing gagging, cawing noises. Despite it all, her green eyes only radiated hatred and fury. If he could have seen it with his own eyes, Vegeta would have been impressed.

Bulma actually hesitated in calling him off. The betrayal she felt was still raw and stinging, compromised by a fear she always had of this dangerous side of the woman's split personality. With a regretful sigh, she grabbed a blade of grass while tugging gently on her husband's arm. "Let her go. I know what to do."

Frowning in annoyance, he looked through her eyes again for some explanation and was confused when she began using the grass to tickle under the barely-conscious woman's nose. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Just watch. You'll see."

Lunch sneezed and her appearance immediately changed into a woman with thick purple-hair. It was the first time that Vegeta had ever seen her and he was struck dumb. She looked a decade younger, her skin was paler, and that athletic body had given way to one that was slightly plump and out-of-shape. Only that puffy hairstyle was the same, otherwise it was a completely different person he was holding down. "Damn, woman!' he said in amazement. "You have the most fucked-up friends I've ever seen!"

"Yah, you're one to talk," Bulma shot back, but she was smiling.

Lunch coughed painfully and looked up at Vegeta's face. She blinked twice and attempted a smile. "Oh, hello there!"

Shaking his head in confusion, he backed away and let the tension ease out of his sore muscles as he listened to the exchange going on in front of him.

Surveying the damage, Lunch was overheard to say in a grave, fretful tone, "Oh no. Is this all my fault?"

Followed by Bulma's voice, "Indirectly, yes."

"And I was doing so good! I'm sorry, Bulma. I just have no control over her. I don't know what to do!"

They got up and wandered off, talking in low, urgent tones. Vegeta rubbed the wound on his swollen cheek and brooded: -_Go ahead. Just leave the blind, injured Saiyan sitting all alone in the dirt. Doesn't matter that I saved your ass or anything like that. Go on, help your crazy friend. See if I give a sh-_

_-It'll only be for a minute! God!_ Bulma huffed into his mind. He had been unaware that he was still projecting his thoughts and he swiftly closed that mental door shut, flushing deeply from anger and embarrassment. He crossed his arms and retreated into a sulk while the women continued their talk.

An unknown length of time later, Bulma returned to his side and placed a gentle hand against his raw face. "Can you get up?"

"A better question is if I want to," he responded morosely, his face still turned to the ground.

"I need your help getting the jeep back up on its wheels. Lunch is leaving. She's going to try and get some treatment for her in the nearest city."

"And the next time she sneezes? In a couple of minutes, she just might use that vehicle to run us over."

"We found some super glue in the glove compartment. It's keeping her nostrils shut. When we were younger, she used a clothespin to prevent the changes and it worked. For awhile anyway."

"That's a comforting thought."

"Vegeta, please?"

After several more seconds of pouting, he got reluctantly to his feet. The sooner he did what she wanted, the sooner they could get rid of the freak and get on with their lives. It was turning out to be a very long day and all that the Saiyan wanted to do was lie down and catch up on some much-needed sleep. All of these stupid misadventures were finally beginning to take their toll on him. Vegeta was not a man who handled ambiguity very well; he was a creature of staunch routine and habit that resented things that fell outside of his sphere of control. This strange honeymoon was only into its sixth day and things were getting weirder by the second. His nerves were just about shot. "Where is it?" he grumbled.

"Over here, I'll guide you," she said, taking his hand while eyeing him with deep concern. The exposed lower half of his face was beet red from laser burns and the wound on his cheek was trickling a small rivulet of blood. His clothes were dusty and torn in several places. He looked exhausted and almost all used up. Still, he hoisted the jeep back onto all four tires with relative ease and was still cocky enough to flash Lunch the finger as the woman drove away.

Alone at last, Bulma returned her radar into her coat pocket and carefully set down the two-star Dragonball. She focused all of her attention on the battered Saiyan and unwound the dirty bandages from his face. Both of his eyes were completely swollen closed. "Are- are you in much pain?" she dared to ask.

He wouldn't admit it even if he was and they both knew it. All he said as his answer was, "Tell me that you packed some senzu beans."

"I have plenty. They're in my make-up bag." She shielded her eyes with one hand and scanned the horizon. "I don't have the capsule with me. We'll have to walk back to the jet. Do you think you can make it?"

"Sure," he said, pulling out a capsule from his back pocket and depressing the switch with his thumb. He flung it casually over his shoulder a far enough distance to detonate and Bulma saw it was their damaged hoverjet. "You actually packed it?!"

"I wasn't going to leave it behind. It has all our gear and a full water tank. Tracking you was thirsty work." He almost sounded smug.

She regarded him in amazement, unable to believing how methodical he was. He had been blinded, his wife had been abducted, and still he had the clarity of mind to search for the encapsulation switch behind the jet and bring it along with him. If their situation had been reversed, she would still be sitting out in the Serengeti bawling her eyes out. "You really are quite amazing, you know that?"

"Yes," came the expected answer.

Rolling her eyes, she led him over to the hatchway and for some reason pulled him to a stop. "Are you really sure that you're not in too much pain?"

"I'm sure. Why?" he asked warily.

"Just stay right there. I'll be right back," she said and he heard her run up the ramp and enter the jet. He figured that she had just gone looking for the senzu beans and leaned casually against the side of the aircraft. In a few minutes she was back and appeared to be setting up something a few feet away from him. "Woman?" That cautious note had returned to his voice again.

She was back, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Say 'cheese'."

"Wha-?"

There was a quick click from what she had set up earlier. Vegeta knew from bitter experience that it was from her damned camera. The woman was determined to take pictures of every humiliating thing he got himself into and the last straw had been when she had parted his hair in the middle (and taken pictures of it, no less!) up in Siberia. "Woman!"

"I had to, honey," she said, pulling off his baseball cap and giving him a quick peck on his unmarked cheek. "You'll understand when you see the picture. Honest."

"Oh, screw it," he mumbled and sat down in the grass to resume his moping. He heard Bulma gather her gear and return to the jet where she started searching through her luggage for her make-up bag. After a couple of minutes she returned to his side and poked a familiar bean between his tense lips. He accepted it without hesitation, crunching it between his teeth and swallowing. The darkness and exhaustion instantly lifted from his body like a heavy curtain. His abrasions disappeared, his burns healed, and he relaxed at long last as his surroundings came into view with perfect color and clarity.

"What a relief," he whispered, raising his eyes gratefully to the sky.

Sitting down beside him, she leaned up against his shoulder and knocked one knuckle against the metal of the jet. "Well, I guess the only thing to do is pack this crate up and head on over to the nearest city ourselves. I'll see if we can't get it fixed or buy a replacement."

"You don't have a back-up?"

"This was our back-up. I left all my traveling capsules at home by mistake, remember? I suppose we could drive across the African badlands on Daisy, if you'd like-"

He flashed her a sullen glare and she had to laugh. "It'll give us an opportunity to rest our head for a few days, too. There's only two Dragonballs to go and we have plenty of time. I'd like to wake up in the same place more than one day in a row. Truth to tell, Vegeta, all this globetrotting is wearing me out."

She was echoing his secret desire to perfection. With a rare smile on his face, he got quickly to his feet. "Then let's not waste any more time and get going," he said with true relief, pulling her up.

----------

Three days later, a postcard arrived at the Capsule Corporation headquarters building. The postman had enjoyed a good laugh when he delivered it to the front desk. Shortly after, everyone from Research and Development and the rest of the offices were crowded around the reception desk passing it back and forth, sharing a good-natured chuckle at the picture.

When Mrs. Briefs found them all standing around and laughing, she scolded them, but only half-heartedly. She took the card down to her husband's office and announced merrily, "You owe me a backrub, dear!"

Looking up from a device he was working on, the scientist's eyes widened in surprise. "Bulma actually got him to wear it?" he asked in disbelief.

"See for your self!" she said, slapping the postcard down on his desk.

As a fun bridal gift, Mrs. Briefs had given her daughter a pair of baseball caps. One was bright pink with the letters "BRIDE" stitched in blue on the front, and the other was dark blue, with white lettering saying, "GROOM". The original bet had been for Bulma to get the Saiyan to wear the groom hat in an actual picture. Some how, in some unknown way, Bulma had managed the impossible:

Posing together in the photo, Bulma was happily wearing the blue groom hat while the Saiyan, obviously in a pout, was sporting the bright pink cap that said "BRIDE".

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Chapter Eight: It's off to the land "Down Under", mate!


	9. The Dreamtime

A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON © 2005 Darke Angelus

* * *

It didn't really make for the often-romanticized vision that usually came to one's mind when they thought of Africa: A disheveled, blue-haired woman trundling across the grasslands on a bright pink moped that had a basket on the front. Trailing along behind her was the bluish tinge of exhaust as the little vehicle coughed and wheezed its way back to the village. On its hind fender were several new dents, created by an agitated foot when it had made the mistake of stalling. Bulma was in a shitty mood. 

Strapped to the seat behind her was a large plant with the remains of beautiful white flowers flailing in the breeze, most of the delicate petals long gone. Finding the plant that her mother had requested had been a lot harder than Bulma would have thought. The specimen that she managed to find and dig up sure as hell didn't look much like the pictures her mother had sent her. Especially not now. Still, her own personal quest was finished and she was speeding back to the village in the southern tip of Africa where she and Vegeta had been staying for the last three days. There was a little airstrip behind the small community's one post office and it offered courier service. Traveling along the one dusty street that separated the well-maintained homes from the businesses that catered to the tourist trade, Bulma noticed a flock of people and villagers were clustering around an open-aired restaurant and her heart sank. "Oh dammit, not again," she moaned, shaking her head as she drove past.

Part of her bad mood was directed towards a particular alien prince. That, in itself, wasn't much of a rarity but for the reason for her resentment in the first place. She had spent most of the evening of their second day in Africa phrasing and rephrasing her statement until she had finally blurted out; "Tomorrow morning, I'm going to go out on Daisy and get that flower that my mother wants. I'll probably be gone for most of the day."

She braced herself for the reaction, honed by years of being in Yamcha and Gokou's company, that she had created in her mind: A protest for her not to go alone. That Launch might have reverted back to her thief persona and reunited with her mercenary friends. That she could be attacked and kidnapped _(again!)_ and held at the mercy of strangers who would seek to use her gorgeous body for their own vile perversions. At the very least, he would offer to accompany her. Offering himself as her protector and guardian and not letting her out of his sight for one second. After all, they were now married and as her husband, he would not dare to let his prized bride out of his sight for one second.

She held her breath when he raised his head from the hammock he was resting in and squinted at her in confusion. They had rented a small cabin on the outskirts of the little village. It provided the bare necessities with a rustic, endearing charm that either had yet to find in their accommodations since their honeymoon had started. There was no electricity and so, no use for radios or television sets, or any other base necessities that the rest of the modern world deemed so essential for survival. There was a little sitting room and a bedroom, both sparsely furnished, and that was it. The bathroom was a crude outhouse sitting behind the flimsy structure and Bulma was absolutely mortified to use it. Vegeta, displaying his usual indifference born of a thousand worlds that didn't have plumbing, simply did his business as only men could so effortlessly do, not seeming to care about the arrangement. Senzu bean or not, his nerves were still worn precariously thin from all of their traveling and he wouldn't have cared any less if they had camped out in the middle of the Serengeti, just so long as he could get some damned sleep.

Out in the back yard, however, he only looked at her with a type of bewildered aggravation as he considered her statement. "Whatever," he finally said and laid his head back down, eventually pulling the pillow over his head to drown out the sounds of her indignant sputtering.

"I'll never figure him out," she was still muttering well into the following day as she stamped into the post office, cradling her wilted plant. "Rid Ribbon soldiers could have been lying in wait for me out there and does he care? He doesn't care! Son of a b-"

"Ms. Briefs!" the attendant behind the counter broke out into a broad smile at her appearance. All Bulma could make out in that dark expanse of face were the woman's eyes and teeth. She was holding up a bright yellow package.

"It came? That's fantastic!" Bulma said, setting the plant down on the counter and eagerly tearing open the envelope. Inside of it was her chief capsule packet that she had mixed up with her mother's. Once she and Vegeta had secured a place to stay, she had gone into the village and called her father to have him send her travel pack of capsules via the local courier service. The first thing she was going to do once she got back to their little rented hovel was pop a capsule house and take a long hot bath.

Paying to have the plant packed and shipped for home, she returned to Daisy and headed towards the small restaurant. In the short time that she had been at the post office, the crowd had thickened to a point that it looked like all the residents and tourists had decided to show up. Bulma figured that they didn't get much for entertainment all the way out here and had to make due with whatever came along.

Working her way through the friendly throng, she came up beside a face she recognized and asked the owner, "How many has he eaten so far?"

"He's working on his fifth," the man said, shaking his head in amazement. "I've never seen anyone eat more than two- and they didn't keep it down for very long. Your husband is amazing!"

"He's _something_, that's for sure," Bulma mumbled, eyeing the scene with dismay.

Seated at the table, Vegeta was eating breakfast and appearing oblivious to the crowd as they kept track every time his fork descended into an enormous pile of scrambled eggs and went back up to his mouth. Their eyes ticked back and forth like spectators at a ping-pong game, up-down, up-down, following the Saiyan as he worked determinedly through his meal and showed no signs of faltering.

_Oh god, that's his fifth plate?_ Bulma thought and inwardly winced in horror.

The main stock of trade of this peaceful little village was located on a nearby farm that devoted all of its resources to cater to the unique stock that drew in tourists from all over the world. Bored out of her mind by the second day of inactivity, Bulma had visited the farm out of courisity. Operating like clockwork, professional guides escorted groups around for over an hour, explaining every detail of the anatomy, character, habits, feeding, reproduction and farming of this fascinating creature. Ostriches. According to the tour guide, they were one of the largest living birds in the world. A mature male stood close to 8 feet high, and weighed between 140 to 230 pounds. The birds' huge body and reduced wing size made them unable to fly but they made up for that by being able to run up to 70 kilometers per hour. Holdovers of a simpler, prehistoric era, the overgrown birds were highly prized on the world market for their leather, meat, feathers, oil-

and eggs.

The average ostrich egg measured six inches in length, five inches in width, and weighed about three pounds. The shell, shiny and whitish in color, was about an eighth of an inch thick and strong enough to withstand the weight of a 250 pound man. The contents of one, single egg were equal to 24 hens eggs and could feed eighteen people when scrambled; a local delicacy. And here was Vegeta working his way through his fifth plate; eating the equivalent of over a hundred normal eggs. That knowledge alone wasn't what caused Bulma her present anxiety, she had witnessed her Saiyan consume some enormous mounds of food.

It was what the eggs DID to him that was the problem.

Once upon a time, not so long after all of that awful Installation 15 business while she and Vegeta had begun to explore the eccentricities of a relationship, her mother had cooked a humongous crock-pot full of delicious baked beans. For the most part, everything that the Saiyan ate on Earth resembled some alien delicacy he'd consumed in the past but he found the beans particularly unique and ate almost all of the pot's contents while Mrs. Briefs beamed with happiness. Later that night, the beans had problems interacting with an alien digestive system and the gas normally associated with such meals became a lethal weapon at the Saiyan's disposal. Vegeta was amused with the whole thing, as most men are, but Bulma was completely repulsed. Unable to sleep in a bedroom that had turned into a noxious gas chamber, she had spent the night in a spare bedroom. That morning, for the first time in either woman's recollection, Bulma had threatened her mother with actual physical harm if she ever prepared baked beans again.

The eggs were almost as bad but the sulfur associated with them now made everything smell so much worse. Vegeta had eaten three ostrich eggs the day before and the effects hadn't come into play until they had been making love in the middle of the night. Every thrust of his hips had been accompanied by a particular sound effect and once the smell had hit her, the show was all over. She had tried to sleep with a handkerchief, dappled with her favorite perfume, wrapped around her face, and had propped every window wide open. Sulking beside her, Vegeta farted every time he shifted position and Bulma wondered if she just shouldn't light a match and put them both out of their misery.

_And now he was eating five,_ Bulma thought again, slapping a hand to her forehead and groaning.

Visibly slowing down, Vegeta finally forced down the last of the contents on his plate and leaned back. Stifling a loud burp into a half-closed fist, he began looking at the now-empty plate with a contemplative concentration that Bulma immediately recognized with dread. Quickly, she moved in to intervene before he could open his mouth. "You're not having any more," she said sharply.

"You don't tell me what I can and can't have," he predictably shot back but there was no threat to his tone. He was full; there was no denying it. Beneath his loose t-shirt, the normally tight six-pack of his abs were distended and bloated. Bulma looked at his stomach as if he were concealing a ticking time bomb. In a weird, grotesque sort of way, she supposed that he was.

"Dad had my capsule packet couriered here. Now that we have a new hoverjet we can go get the five star Dragonball."

"Where are we going this time?" The question came out as a reluctant sigh.

"Australia. From what you've told me, I think it'll more resemble your home world than your previous battle site in the desert."

He seemed to brighten at that, not even wearing his usual scowl when a tourist slipped in and got a photo of them together. He didn't even protest when she tugged on the sleeve of his t-shirt and he followed her out of the restaurant. Taking one look at Daisy, he said he'd meet her back at their cabin and flew off, gathering a collection of awed murmurs from the crowd. Bulma supposed traveling on unpaved dirt roads on the back of a moped with poor shocks wouldn't help his digestion any.

He was waiting for her when she finally showed up in a cloud of dust and one last shuddering backfire from Daisy as she shut off the engine for the final time. She encapsulated the little moped with a mixture of relief and fondness, "You did us good, old girl," she praised and placed the capsule carefully into her familiar travel packet. Pulling out another that was labeled "Hoi-Poi Home" she depressed the switch and threw it away like a baseball.

Vegeta watched the domed quarters appear in a cloud of dramatic smoke and silently marveled at the technology behind the concept. It appeared to be a puzzling combination of molecular physics intertwined with some sort of extra-dimensional energy that he couldn't seem to grasp even though he had taken apart his fair share of the capsules. Bulma had explained the process to him once and he had nodded his understanding while, internally, he had been lost after the first sentence. Sometimes she forgot that Saiyans hadn't developed far enough in their evolution to create technology of their own. What they'd had, had been copied and stolen from other races. Vegeta was highly skilled at redrawing the schematics of technology he'd examined in the past but he'd never be able to build what he drew. It was a serious shortcoming in his evolutionary make-up.

"I can't wait to take a shower!" Bulma cried and was pulling off her clothes even before she charged into the front door of the bright yellow structure. There was a small brook that ran behind their rented cabin but Bulma did little more than wash her hands and splash her face with the brown-tinged water, grimacing through the entire ordeal. She was a woman who liked her comforts and her days of roughing it were long behind her.

She was bent over the tub, holding her hand under the running water when Vegeta came up behind her. He had also discarded his clothes in short order and pulled her back towards him. She could feel his arousal slide in between her thighs and he reached down between her legs and deliberately rubbed the warm head into her slick folds. He growled into her hair and lightly nipped at the flesh between her neck and shoulder, raising excited gooseflesh. "We'll shower later," he said in a husky voice.

"There's no reason we can't do both." She squeezed his erection with a gentle hand and led him into the stall, using it like a very effective lead on a barely-domesticated wild animal. Lost to all input other than from the region where her hand was gripping him, Vegeta followed along, barely having the wits to shut the stall door after them.

Over the next several minutes, an observer standing in the tiny bathroom would have been privy to the following:

Several throaty moans. The sounds of moist kissing. The undercurrent of affectionate words. Wet slapping sounds that accompanied the sound of running water. And then-

"_BRA-A-AP!"_

Immediately followed by: "Whoops."

"Agh! That's disgusting!" Bulma screeched. The shower door was pulled open with such force that it almost came off of its runners. Vegeta's sudden, ungainly exit was more of one being thrown out than actually being pushed. "Get out of here! Go stink up someplace else until I finish my shower! Agh!" She slammed the door closed on his stunned face.

Angrily flipping wet hair out of his eyes, Vegeta grabbed a towel and padded out into the next room. He intended to finish what they had started, this time by his own hand, and he cursed through the entire solitary act until it was over.

* * *

One terse, silent brunch later and the pair were back in a new hoverjet, speeding a direct course east. There was little conversation between them; Bulma was still seething and Vegeta was still sulking. One hour into the trip, he went into the small cabin in the back of the cockpit and lied down to catch a short nap. That act alone served to dispel the remnants of her animosity over what had happened in the shower stall. She became lost in thought until he emerged from the cabin two hours later and returned to the co-pilot's seat, rubbing his eyes and yawning. She took a deep breath, put the hoverjet on autopilot, and turned around in her seat to face him. 

He looked at her, aware of her scrutiny. "What?" he asked defensively as her examination lingered.

"It's nothing," she said and, after a pause, finally admitted; "I'm just getting a little worried."

"Why?"

"You spent most of our time in Africa sleeping-" _(and passing wind, _she thought to herself) "It's just not like you, that's all."

She didn't get the usual 'I'm fine' response that he usually used to deflate her concern. Instead, he looked out at the sky for a while, his profile tense and guarded before he dropped his eyes. "I've been on this world too long," she heard him murmur in a low voice.

"What do you mean?" she asked, hoping that he would be receptive to a direct question and not be evasive in this quiet moment.

He gave a very un-Vegetalike shrug and ran a hand through his mussed hair. She didn't think he was going to answer until he said, "Purge missions rarely lasted longer than a week. Shore leaves weren't much longer. That left the stasis of the space pods or the artificial gravity of the main warship..." his voice trailed off.

"Vegeta, what are you trying to say?"

"I haven't been on a planet longer than a month since I was a chimp on my own home world, that's what I'm trying to say. Since then, it's been an endless parade of different planets, different environments, gravities, atmospheres, citizens," he rolled his eyes and added an impatient shake with his right hand to drive the point home. "But the missions, as I said, were short. We- I, didn't have to acclimatize to it. The warship was my home, with a constant gravity of two times that of earth and a thirty-two hour clock. I was completely adapted to that environment."

When he looked over at her again, his features had hardened dramatically. "That all changed when Radditz went to retrieve Kakarrot. Nappa and I had to travel in the opposite direction to lead away Frieza's scouts. I didn't want them to catch wind of Radditz's pod trail. Nappa and I camped out on planets in the uncivilized fringe of Frieza-regulated space waiting for his transmission. The wait actually wasn't so bad, it was the yearlong travel to Earth that was the worst of it. No training, no adequate food, no mental stimulation for an entire fucking year! I was out of shape, hungry as hell, and suffering a celestial case of jet lag. Small wonder I was a raving lunatic when we finally reached this world. Small wonder..." he bit the words back but she heard them whispering in the back of his mind; _...small wonder I lost the battle..._

Sitting very still in the pilot's seat, Bulma wisely kept her mouth closed as her mind whirled with images of what could have been. Vegeta hardly ever betrayed any details of the life he had led before coming to Earth and this information stunned her. She thought that it was very ironic how often fate intervened on the behalf of her and her friends; intercepting disastrous courses in time and providing alternative solutions. Mirai Trunks' timely appearance was one that everyone knew about. Vegeta being out of shape when he had arrived was not one any of them could have fathomed. And still, he had come so close - SO CLOSE- to killing them all. It was mind boggling how lucky this planet truly was.

Oblivious to the shocked run of her thoughts, he continued, "I've been on earth now, for the most part, for over three years. I've become accustomed to the Western Capital's routine. Now we've been gallivanting around this entire planet nonstop for the last week encountering different time zones, altitudes, food types, cultures, people- GAH!" he gave another one of those frustrated waves as words failed him.

_In other words, you're suffering from sensory overload and it's wiped you out. That's all that you really had to say, lover,_ Bulma secretly translated in her mind, staring at him fondly. What she said instead was; "I understand."

Vegeta just grunted and offered her a one-armed shrug. He suddenly rubbed his side with a grimace and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Bulma had a pretty good idea what the problem was.

"You don't have to hold them in for my sake, I'm prepared for it," she said, motioning to the gas mask she had tucked under her seat and the four pine tree air-fresheners that were hanging from the rear-view mirror. The cockpit smelled like they were in a forest.

"I'm not," he assured her. "It just... won't come out." His lower stomach was still swollen with gas and he pressed down on the stretched flesh and winced. "Maybe five eggs _was_ too many-"

"You think?" Bulma shot back.

His eyes narrowed in irritation and he knew that he wasn't going to get any pity from her and kept the rest of his comments to himself while he rubbed his aching stomach. From that moment on, he swore he would never eat another egg for as long as he lived.

* * *

Lester Lockett slapped away the bities with the good ol' Aussie salute and raised a hand over his eyes to glance up at the sky. Even behind the dark sunnies he wore, the glare went through his brain like shit through a Pommy's freckle. He was drier than a dead dingo's donger, and he privately wondered why he hadn't just chucked a sickie for the day. The night before, he and the rest of the boyos had enjoyed a right buck's night down at the local boozer. The mate getting married was a bit of a whacker even at the best of times but any excuse to get off one's face was a good one for Lester. A couple of glasses of Bundy was always enough to hit the turps and once he'd tackled half a slab of tinnys, he'd been set to rage on for the whole night straight. Even met a fine little sheila at the bar, too, who was quite a spunk. He cracked a fat for her right after one slow dance but damned if he could find a franger or he would have enjoyed a naughty out back of the pub. Ah well, by four a.m. he was bent over the john having a liquid laugh, anyway. Didn't even remember the drive home... 

A_nd now, here I be out in the back arse of Woop Woop catering to the galahs coming to oogle the 'Rock,_ Lester thought to himself, moving the red dirt around in haphazard patterns with the toe of his boot. Behind him, rising suddenly out of the earth like the back of some prehistoric creature, was Ayer's Rock. It rose 318 meters above the desert floor with a circumference of 8 kilometers and was considered one of the great wonders of the world. Located in the Kata Tjuta National Park, it was owned and run by the local Aboriginals. The Australian government had handed ownership of the land back to the Aboriginals some years ago who still call it by its original name of 'Uluru'.

Lester was one of the tour guides, and several times a day he had to tell slack-jawed tourists how the Aborigines believe that Uluru was thought to be hollow below the ground, and that it contained an energy source called 'Tjukurpa'; the 'Dreamtime'. According to Aboriginal belief; the world had always existed, but was featureless. Giant semi-human beings, resembling plants or animals, rose up from the plains where they had been slumbering for countless ages. These ancient heroes roamed the land aimlessly. As they wandered around, they carried out the tasks that the present Aborigines did today including camping, making fires, digging for water, fighting each other, and performing ceremonies. When the heroes became tired of doing those things, Dreamtime came to an end.

In several caves around the huge monolith were representations that support many stories of the Dreamtime. The paintings were regularly renewed, with layer upon layer of paint, dating back many thousands of years. Perhaps the most striking feature of the 'Rock, depending on the time of day and the atmospheric conditions, was that it could dramatically change color, anything from blue to glowing red.

A yellow exy hoverjet appeared low on the horizon and made a swift descent near the parking lot. Lester rested his elbows on the fence and watched with bored half-interest as a couple of tall poppies stepped out of the vehicle. They looked to be having a proper blue as they bickered back and forth. The sheila was a blue-haired looka, possibly a Seppo, if he got her accent right. The bloke, a show pony if Lester had ever seen one, looked to be a Wog but there was something about him that put the younger man on guard. Lester had done his nasho, and the other guy looked like he might be a digger, because he looked as fit as a mallee bull. At any rate, he also looked as mean as cat's piss with a good helping of figjam thrown in for good measure, certainly not the usual brand of drongo that Lester saw on an hourly basis.

"G'day," he called over to them, tipping his hat. "Welcome to Uluru."

"Oh, thank you," the woman said with a smile, looking up from a watch-like contraption in her left hand. Her companion just glared over at him, slanted eyes narrowing in suspicion. He looked as cross as a frog in a sock and Lester wished that he'd just kept his gob shut. Unfortunately, the contact had been made and the woman walked over to him, her face burning with questions. She was wearing a tight fitting dress that was low in the front and high above the knee and left little to the imagination. Lester was finding it difficult to maintain his professional conduct and not ogle her cleavage. As if sensing his interest, the other man flanked her protectively, his eyes almost drawn closed to spiteful slits.

"Can you tell me-" the woman began.

"We'll find it ourselves," the man growled and grabbed her by the arm and led her down the road that led to Ayer's Rock.

The pair got into another blue as the bloke forcibly dragged her down the path. Lester wasn't disappointed to see them go and didn't bother to offer his services. The looka had been fine enough, but the yobbo she was with made him nervous. "Strewth, I'm glad to get the flick of that date. Bloody oath!" he muttered under his breath and then looked at his watch.

_Only four more hours to quitting time._ It might as well have been four years... Lester crossed his arms in the fence railing and rested his aching forehead while the hot sun of the Oz baked down on him.

"What the hell was that all about?" Bulma hissed, wrenching her arm away from Vegeta's firm grip.

"I didn't like the way that prick was staring at you," he growled, casting another glance over his shoulder as if they were being followed.

"He was just a tour guide for heaven's sake! Did you honestly think that HE was a threat?"

"If I didn't fuck it or father it then, YES, it's a threat," Vegeta coldly snapped back, bracing himself for a screaming match.

Bulma blinked in surprise. All of a sudden she burst out laughing. "That's got to be the funniest thing I think you've ever said," she managed to get out.

"I meant every word of it."

"I know. That's what makes it so hilarious," she giggled, glancing down at the Dragonball radar. "I wanted to learn about some of the legends I've heard about Ayer's Rock from that guide. Now that you've shot that idea down in flames, I guess we can go get the Dragonball directly." She stepped off of the well-worn path and set a direct course for the southern wall of the huge magnetic mound. After a few steps, she looked back and saw that the Saiyan was still standing in place, his arms crossed. "You coming?"

He glowered back at her, his lips a tight, bloodless line. "I am NOT funny," she heard him grumble under his breath after he finally decided to follow her. It took some effort, but she was able to keep another attack of laughter at bay. Barely.

The southern face of Ayer's Rock was steep and the ground was littered with shallow caves, sagebrush, and gigantic rust-colored boulders. There were crude markings on some of the smooth surfaces and, at first, Bulma thought it was some hateful graffiti until she looked closer. There were concentric circular patterns and drawings of stick figures into the ancient rock carefully etched out in white chalk. "These are thousands of years old," she marveled.

"Big deal," Vegeta snorted. Archeology was definitely not among his limited interests. "Is the Dragonball here or isn't it?"

Huffing out a frustrated breath, Bulma led him around one of the boulders into a nearby cave. It was only ten feet deep and she was left standing at the wall of barren rock, studying her radar in confusion. "According to this, the Dragonball is right here! I don't see anything, do you, Vegeta?"

The Saiyan was barely listening to her. He was studying a chalk drawing on the wall and thunderstruck by what the seemingly random slashes spelled out before his wide eyes.

It was the Saiyajin word for; WELCOME.

Bulma took off the back housing of the radar and examined the battery. It was still fully charged. She shook it once and then recalibrated the settings. The result was the same: The Dragonball was right where she was standing. "This doesn't make any sense. Do you think we should dig? Vegeta?" She turned her head marginally and completely turned around in shock.

Vegeta was gone.

* * *

"Wake up, sire." 

Embracing the fur wrap in his arms, Vegeta muttered a bleary grumble and settled his face into that soft warmth. A hand lightly grabbed his shoulder and gave it a tentative shake. "Sire? You've overslept. You have to wake up."

Opening his eyes a crack, Vegeta looked up at the figure that loomed over him. All traces of sleep immediately evaporated and he snapped fully awake. "Nappa?" he cried in disbelief, sitting up. He spared a quick glance around and saw that he was waist-deep in a royal hrasa'an that spanned over twenty feet wide. The sumptuous surroundings were vaguely familiar, a far cry from the quarters he'd briefly occupied as a small boy. Here, the elaborate tile patterns on the floor were crafted from a rare alien stone that glowed muted colors of green and amber. The walls were covered with expansive tapestries that depicted battles and warfare, displaying warriors in armor that were engaged in hand-to hand combat while their tails waved like flags of honor. Vegeta recognized the huge room instantly even though it had been over thirty years since he'd last set one small, tentative foot in here; "What am I doing in my father's chamber, Nappa?"

The huge bodyguard gawked at him for a few seconds and then burst into boisterous laughter. "A fine joke, sire! You know as well as I do that you bested your father in Royal combat. His quarters are now yours- as it should be."

"You mean, I'm ... King?" he asked in a hesitant, disbelieving voice.

"It was an exquisite battle, sire. One that's still spoken about in awe." Nappa eyed the other Saiyan critically. "Are you feeling all right? You didn't make the mistake of drinking that commoner wine the Third class soldiers favor did you? It's barely one step up from rotgut-"

"No, I haven't been drinking," Vegeta muttered, working his way to the edge of the hrasa'an. As he did so, he silently marveled at all of the different colors and textures of the rich pelts and soft leathers that made up his bedding; all skinned from creatures he couldn't begin to put names to. Climbing out, he felt something tickling his thigh and when he reached around to swat it away, his hand closed around the firm length of a tail.

His tail.

Vegeta released a rare exclamation of surprise and gripped the appendage gingerly, as if fearful that it would disappear. The thick russet fur was just as he remembered; clean and soft, each individual hair reflecting the light like a miniature prism. He grabbed the thick length more firmly and did a totally unexpected thing before Nappa's incredulous gaze:

He began petting it.

"Sire?" the large man asked.

"I've missed you," Vegeta murmured softly.

"Sire," Nappa said more forcefully. "Are you all right?"

As if in a spell, Vegeta shook himself and released his prized tail, snapping it sharply left and right and relishing in the feel of it moving freely about behind him. He knew that his balance was going to be off for a few hours because of it but didn't mind. He was thrilled with its return and the memories of it even being gone were beginning to seem like the after-effects of a dimly remembered nightmare.

Climbing out of the hrasa'an with a rare smile on his face, he stood up beside Nappa and experienced the second shock in as many minutes stared at his bodyguard. Before, he had always been eyelevel with the Elite soldier's ever-expanding gut. Now, all of a sudden, he found himself staring directly at Nappa's collarbone. "Have you shrunk?"

Now, Nappa was certain that something was seriously wrong with his King. "Sire?" he asked cautiously.

Looking down at himself, Vegeta suddenly turned to one of the doors and began walking briskly. "I need a mirror," he said. "Right now!"

He entered the bathing area of the royal chambers and ignored a steaming bathing pool that could have easily accommodated a legion of soldiers. Moving directly to a full-length mirror set in the corner, Vegeta stood in front of it and examined himself thoroughly.

He was taller, there was absolutely no doubt. His longer limbs were coated with thick warrior muscle and covered in a dark, olive skin that was completely unmarked by the scars that he had begun accumulating ever since he had become a soldier working for Frieza. Even his face had subtle changes; his cheekbones were sharper and lacking that cherub roundness that he had always privately resented. The hairstyle, as expected, was unchanged and had completely grown back. Around his neck was the necklace and medallion that symbolized his royal status. He touched his lower jaw with a frown, half-expecting to see the goatee that his father had sported.

_No, of course you wouldn't have it yet_, he thought to himself. _Whatever the k'rucT is going on around here, you're obviously still the same age and you won't have any hair growth on your face until you crest the height of your prime._

He was wearing a loincloth that did little more than offer some degree of decorum in polite company. It was really just a string wound around his waist with a simple scrap of leather in the front. Compulsively, Vegeta pulled open the front and looked down, frowning slightly. _Great, of all of the things to remain the same, it had to be THAT._ Now, at best, he could be considered 'average'...

Behind him, Nappa was hovering indecisively and Vegeta barked, "I need answers, Nappa."

"To what questions, sire?"

"What is the date?"

"217 Passes, 56 Revs, sire.

It took some time for Vegeta to translate the Vegetasei standard date keeping to an Earth year he could relate to: Each full moon pass was seven years, so 217 was equal to 1519 years, dating back to the time when early Saiyans had become evolved enough to start keeping track of time. Revs were planetary revolutions (there were 45 revs to a month, 630 to one year, and 4410 to a Pass). He had been born the Vegetasei date of 212p85r so it appeared that time was still running smoothly. It was everything _else_ that appeared to be screwed up.

"What happened to my father?" Vegeta asked next.

"Sire, are you _sure_ that you're all-"

"No questions. Just answers."

Swallowing, Nappa composed his thoughts for a moment and told him, "You defeated him in Royal combat two Passes ago, sire. It was-" His eyes glazed over and he betrayed a small, revered smile, "-spectacular, sire! Soldiers still speak of it to this day. You became the Super Saiyan of Legend just as your father had foretold. He was smiling when you dealt him the death blow-"

"I became Super Saiyan," Vegeta interrupted roughly. Two Passes ago would have made him approximately 21 years old. According to his bodyguard, he had been ruling as King for 14 years.

"Yes, sire. A truly amazing sight. Would you... like to hear my telling of the battle?"

Vegeta found that he wanted that very much but that would have to wait. There were more pressing concerns he had to have addressed. "What happened to Frieza, Nappa?" He braced himself for the answer to come: Y_ou still serve him, sire_, he was expecting Nappa to say. _He's allowed you this figurehead position, but he is still the true ruler of the Empire. And of you._

The true answer stunned him: "Who is Frieza, sire?"

Whirling in surprise, Vegeta stumbled a few steps, still thrown off-balance by his tail. When he righted himself, he grabbed the front of Nappa's armor and hauled the huge behemoth down so that they were eye-level (and despite everything that was happening, he was privately reveling in the fact that there wasn't much of a difference between them anymore; A foot- maybe a foot and a half, instead of the usual three). Nappa was staring back at him warily, half expecting his king to either slug him or kiss him. Given the younger Elite's strange behavior, Nappa wasn't sure which one would be worse.

"Are you telling me that Frieza doesn't exist?" Vegeta was almost raving. "That pallid son-of-a-bitch isn't hanging around here somewhere? Are you serious?"

"You are the sole ruler of the Empire, sire," Nappa said carefully.

Vegeta released him. "How-how many worlds are included in the Empire now?" He could feel himself starting to shake and had to actively force himself to stop.

"Over sixty planets of thirty-eight systems, sire."

Running a hand through his already disheveled mane, Vegeta tried to absorb this information. It was actually getting difficult. He had reached the point where his mind was having trouble grasping anymore input. Sixty planets... In the time of his father's rule there had been a mere three systems that had sworn fealty to the Saiyan banner. Before Vegeta's birth, Frieza had gradually absorbed all of the others under his own 'rule', including his father's. In this alternate timeline (or dimension, he wasn't sure what it was), no Frieza appeared to have ever existed, leaving him the sole heir to a gigantic empire that had no equal.

Sixty planets. Thirty-eight systems... Billions, no, TRILLIONS of citizens all swearing their loyalty to the Saiyan Empire-

All swearing their loyalty to HIM.

Nappa watched the color fade from his King's face to be replaced by a pallor he definitely did not like. Forgoing all propriety in his haste, he grabbed the younger Elite by the shoulder and half-led, half-dragged him over to a chair. Vegeta collapsed into it as if the strength had gone suddenly out of his legs and bent over to put his cold face into hands that were shaking.

"Are there other Saiyans, Nappa?" Vegeta heard himself asking this desperate question in a muffled voice that was completely unlike his usual gruff tone. It was almost a whine. "We're- Tell me we're not the only ones left?"

Nappa soberly regarded the younger man for a long considering pause and then suddenly stepped around the bathing pool, crossing the room to the chamber's far side. There were heavy curtains occupying the far wall and he grasped them with immense fists and flung them open. Early morning light came in through the huge bay window, bathing the room in a strident golden glow. Nappa was only a dark silhouette when he turned back to Vegeta, saying, "See for yourself, sire."

Shielding his eyes, Vegeta came up beside him and looked out. At first, all he could make out was a blinding glare and it took some time for his eyes, accustomed to Earth's sun, to adapt to this brighter, harsher counterpart. Details began to swim into view and become more distinct as his vision adjusted to the light. He was looking out into the back courtyard of the royal bastion where soldiers were doing maneuvers. The number of training arenas extended as far as his straining, watering eyes could see and in each one of them was over a hundred soldiers practicing their craft. Ki bolts flashed like miniature bolts of lightening as the training progressed both on the ground and in the air, as if either medium were commonplace to the combatants. As Vegeta's eyes sharpened, he could make out one more feature, perhaps the most important one, that was visible on every soldier- male and female- he laid his straining eyes on.

Tails. They all had tails.

Because they were all Saiyan. Thousands of them.

Nappa heard a crunch and saw that the younger Elite had sunken his fingers into the stone windowsill up to the second knuckle. He had his eyes squeezed shut, as if in pain. "Sire? Are you all-"

"... get out..."

"Sire, I don't-"

"You're not real! _GET OUT!"_ Vegeta screamed. He transformed into his Super Saiyan form even before he was consciously aware of it and raised one trembling, glowing hand directly into the larger man's face. As if suddenly attacked by a vengeful, unstable God- Nappa turned tail (literally) and ran out of the chamber before a white-hot blast of unrivaled power tore his head from its shoulders.

Even before the sound of the bodyguard's echoing footfalls had faded, Vegeta lost his hold on the empowered form as swiftly as he had assumed it. He was staring helplessly down at the training grounds, tracking the progress of the soldiers as they sparred on the ground and in the air with a grace that no race could ever mimic, or ever would. There was moisture on both of his cheeks but it wasn't caused by the glare of alien sunlight, and he wiped his eyes with a curse, forcing himself to turn his back on the view. Once, not so long ago, he had been shot through the heart and he had thought that nothing could top that agony.

He had been wrong.

"This is a lie. All of it," he muttered, irritably pacing the large chamber. He could feel the warm stone beneath his bare feet, could hear the sound of his foot steps, he could smell the faint aromas of oils and herbs, see the masonry work around him. "None of this is real!" he suddenly shouted at the ceiling. "I command whoever is doing this, to stop it RIGHT NOW! Do you hear me? I DEMAND-"

"What the k'rucT is with all of this shouting!" a woman's voice piped up from the sleeping quarters.

Vegeta's muscles clenched and stood out in stark relief with the effort that maintaining control was costing him. A distinctly female figure approached the doorway and stepped inside, staring at him in exasperation and asking, "Well? What's wrong with you?"

Of all of the surprises to greet him here, it had to be _HER_.

* * *

"Bulma?" 

Charles McNeil gently shook her shoulder and Bulma's head snapped up as if she'd been electrocuted. "OH!" she gasped, looking urgently around. The eccentric scientist was standing next to her, and seated all around a large oval table were the top shareholders of Capsule Corporation, studying her curiously.

Looking quickly around, Bulma realized that she was in the boardroom back at the headquarters' building. That meant she was in the Western Capital. Home. How was that possible? She had been standing in a cave in Australia a couple of minutes ago, hadn't she? The details seemed fuzzy and thick, like a rapidly fading dream and she blinked at Charles in confusion. "What's going on?" she whispered.

His eyes widening almost comically behind his coke-bottle lenses, Charles turned to the twelve other men and women and said, "Uhm, I think it's – ah- time for a coffee break."

"But the meeting just started-" protested one of the stuffed shirts.

"You heard the man," Bulma said, and when she had that cross note to her voice, nobody objected. They filed out of the room, talking among themselves in agitated, spiteful tones. As Charles began to draw away, Bulma grabbed him by the tie and reeled him back in. "What the hell is going on, Charles?"

"What do you mean?" the man asked uneasily. "It's our annual meeting. We're preparing our next round of budget negotiations for the fiscal year."

"So what are _you_ doing here?" she asked suspiciously.

"You asked me to come," the scientist said, sounding angry as well as bewildered. "There're a lot of new projects coming up and as head of Research and Development, you wanted me to prepare a summary of what we've got on the drawing table. Hell, you even managed to draft Vegeta into coming-"

"Vegeta!" Bulma pounced on the name, jumping to her feet. "He's here?"

"Next door," Charles inclined a thumb to the back wall. "I'm damn near pissing myself I'm so nervous and he's laying back in a chair, scarfing down donuts, and reading a Reader's Digest. Your husband is a complete enigma."

Husband... So everything was normal. Now it was just a matter of figuring out what the devil was going on with her memories. She had to touch base with the Saiyan and compare notes. Between the two of them, they should be able to come up with an explanation and maybe find a way out of this... what? Dream? Hallucination? Dimension? "Charles, can you go get Vegeta for me? I need-"

"I hear whistling, I think that's him," Charles said, turning to the door. When it opened and the figure stepped through, Bulma's relief immediately shattered.

It was Vegeta, but not the one she knew.

* * *

It was Bulma, but not the one he knew. 

She was dressed in a transparent caftan deliberately left open in the front and the body it revealed was lithe and firm and rippled with taut muscle honed by years of intense training. Her blue hair was now an unkempt mane of short auburn spikes and her wide, beautiful blue eyes- eyes that had fascinated him practically since the first time they had met – were now slanted and harsh and as black as cold space. Completing the look was the three-foot length of brown tail that flicked lazily from side to side behind her.

"Bulma," Vegeta said, eying the medallion around her delicate throat. It was identical to his own. "Are you... my queen?"

"Silly male," she huffed, rolling her eyes. She discarded the flimsy wrap and stepped past him to enter the bathing pool. Vegeta caught a whiff of an odor he couldn't identify and it immediately made the hackles at the back of his neck quiver. It was heady and cloying, obliterating all conscious thought and it immediately erased his previous anxiety. It wasn't perfume, or deodorant, it was natural but not Bulma's usual smell. This was amplified into an intoxicating elixir he was powerless against.

_Of course,_ he thought with the last vestiges of reason, _she's a Saiyan female. I- I've never met one before.._.

Bulma reached the deep end of the pool and dipped her hair back into the water, displaying her pert breasts until she flung her head forwards, spraying water in a wide arc. "Well, are you going to join me?" she called over to him. "Or are you going to continue to point at me with _that_?"

Dumbly, he looked down and saw that he was massively erect. Without a second's hesitation, he ripped off the loincloth and joined her.

* * *

Vegeta looked from Bulma to Charles and back again. "What'd I miss?" 

Her mouth was working but no sound was coming out. Bulma stared at the man in the doorway, torn between a perplexing sense of recognition and outright denial. There was no way that this was the Saiyan prince of her memories, the alien she had married, and yet... it WAS him. None of this made any sense and she was stuck mute.

Frowning at her, Vegeta crossed the room. "Bulma, are you all right? You're as pale as a sheet," he asked in a voice that held a cultured undertone that was remotely British, not the throaty growl that usually accompanied his terse responses. He was dressed in an immaculate navy blue, double-breasted suit that was set off nicely by a red power tie. The body beneath his clothes seemed to be about the same from the one that she so intimately knew; same athletic build, same height. It was the rest of his features that threw her for a loop. His face was the same but it was touched off by a pair of wire spectacles that softened his eyes, which she noticed were now a gentle brown. He still had that dramatic widow's peak but instead of the usual flame-style corona of hair, it was now tied back in a simple ponytail. When he turned his head to glance at Charles again, she saw a small diamond earring in the lobe of his left ear.

"Oh, I gotta sit down," she moaned and collapsed into the nearest chair.

"Maybe you better give us a couple of minutes, Chuck," Vegeta said.

"Sure, sure, okay," Charles said in agreement. "Whatever you say, little buddy." He exited the boardroom without so much as a glance from the Saiyan who, under normal circumstances, would have flown into a rage at the scientist's usual insult.

_Except nothing was normal here,_ Bulma thought with rising fear. _It's not anywhere close._

"What's with the jitters?" Vegeta asked, crouching down next to her and smiling. It was a real smile, not the usual one-sided smirk he usually offered her, and his dimples complimented the grin, making him look much younger than he really was. "You've done these meetings since you were a teenager." He reached up and touched her pale cheek and she compulsively grabbed his hand, examining it closely. There were no scars on the knuckles and the nails were perfectly manicured, certainly not the hand of a man who had ever engaged in steady combat. He was wearing a wedding band on his ring finger but it wasn't the platinum band that she had given him; the one imprinted with the crest of the Vegeta Royal family. It was a gold band that now had a Star of David etched into it.

She glanced at her own ring and saw that it was different; now it was a one carat blue diamond in a gold setting. "Oh," she managed to get out, hesitantly touching it. "Vegeta, when did we get married?"

"Four years ago," he answered promptly. "Six months after I came to the Western Capital to work for Capsule Corporation. Why?"

"Where are you from... originally?"

"Bulma, I don't-"

"Just answer the question!"

"I was born in Tel Aviv," he said, eying her warily. "My folks moved from there to London when I was still a teenager. After I graduated from university, with my Masters in Engineering, I've worked all aver the world. Canada, France, Japan-" he smiled fondly, "You're the first person to ever keep me in one place for longer than a year."

"So you're... Jewish?"

"Hey, you didn't complain the first time I took my pants off," he said, tipping her a wink. "I believe your first words were, 'Thank god! Foreskins are sooo gross!'"

Bulma blushed right down to her toes. She started stammering again until he gently pulled her face over to his and kissed her. It was meant simply as an affectionate peck, there was no amorous overtone to the gesture, and his hands returned to his sides without trying to risk a quick grope. "Don't be nervous. You'll do just fine, that's why I love you."

The color had started returning to her cheeks and now suddenly evaporated as if she had just been slapped. She manage to rasp out one simple, thunderstruck question before words failed her completely; "What did you say?"

* * *

Entering the heated, gold-tinged water, Vegeta slowly swam over to the woman who was, by some unknown, miraculous twist of fate, now transformed into his Royal Saiyan consort. The water made his entire body tingle but not in the irritating way that chlorinated water on Earth reacted to his alien skin. It was entirely pleasurable, a welcome complement to the heady scent that radiated off of the beauty in steady waves even though the water should have masked it. "How is this possible?" he wondered, barely aware that he was speaking out loud. 

"Husband, you are not yourself," Bulma observed, watching him through half-lidded eyes.

"None of this is real." He was still trying to make himself believe that.

"See if this convinces you," she said and hauled off and punched him soundly across the jaw. He head swung to the right with the power behind the blow and he was stunned enough to stop swimming and promptly sank like a rock. He surfaced a few seconds later, sputtering and cursing, shaking the hair out of his face and rubbing a knot that was forming beside his mouth. "What the hell did you do that for!" he roared at her.

"I don't like to see weakness in my King. Leave the indecision for the commoners," she huffed in disdain. She raised her arm again and this time he caught her fist as it arced towards him, pinning her against the side of the pool. The pair regarded one another in silence for a long moment, their raven-black eyes locked in silent combat; his outraged betrayal hitting against her cool disdain and rebounding. Unexpectedly, she smiled, showing teeth that were sharper than they had any right to be. "_There's_ the King I married," she purred, while under the water, her tail curled around his erection and tightened.

He hissed in breath through clenched teeth and she moved in and kissed him, pressing her tongue against the barrier. Hungrily, Vegeta opened his mouth as wide as possible to admit her straining oral member and soon their two tongues were commingling lewdly, wet with saliva. Bulma explored every crevice of the interior of his mouth, the inside of his cheeks, behind his teeth, while her tail continued to squeeze and caress his desire-hardened shaft.

Vegeta pulled his head back to betray a soft moan as Bulma kneaded the softly pulsing mound of his testicles with her tail. He felt a sharp sensation in his earlobe as she nibbled the tender flesh with her sharp teeth, biting slightly, and then hard enough to draw blood. At first, he was a little put off by her aggression but the stinging pain was also undeniably exciting, and his entire body shivered in reaction.

"Do you like that?" she breathed into his ear, snaking a warm tongue up his cheek.

His response was an inarticulate growl of lust and he kissed her neck so hard with tightened lips that he made a little red welt on her skin. He could feel his penis throbbing with excitement, yearning for release and he was caught in a turbulent surge of passion. Throwing aside all reason and restraint, he grabbed her into his arms and showered hot kisses all over her face, her neck, her throat, his hands roaming feverishly over the smoothness of her body. The musky female odor of her staggering form was driving him wild with savage desire.

"I want to fuck you," the words were tumbling out before he had a chance to pull them back, knowing how Bulma disapproved of the language but helpless to stop himself. This was such a raw, primal, emotional moment that the poetic words of affection were lost in favor of brutal honesty, "Bulma, I want to fuck you so much..."

"Show me, husband," came the smooth reply, stunning him to the core of his being.

Pulling away from him, she hoisted herself easily out of the water and moved quickly towards the full-length mirror and knelt down, dog-fashion, facing it. Her glistening buttocks were quivering with excitement and her tail waved lewdly high above her, a vulgar invitation to be taken from the rear.

Vegeta regarded the sight; transfixed by that russet tail flailing back and forth like a banner, freely exposing the glistening slash that was his for the taking. For a brief instant, he was somewhat disturbed by Bulma's strange actions, she had never behaved so bizarre and shameless in her life, but after the initial shock he found himself eagerly anticipating the animalistic act.

"Come on, my King," she panted. "Don't keep your Queen waiting any longer. I want you RIGHT NOW!"

As if in a trance, Vegeta climbed out of the pool and moved towards her like a panting beast, his penis purplish-red from excitement. The veins along the length of his swollen tool were fully outlined, and his balls trembled with desire. He positioned himself behind her, and placed his pulsing, ruddy head at the entrance of her womanhood, ready to slice inward. At that moment he caught sight of himself in the mirror and could hardly believe what he beheld. It was like watching a movie that displayed two completely different people; aliens he didn't even recognize with dark spikes of hair fanning haphazardly over their shoulders, wild-eyed with lust, and their tails snapping back and forth like whips. He was overwhelmed by what he saw and raw power filled his body.

"What are you waiting for, Vegeta?" Bulma screamed, her head thrown back and dark eyes blazing. "Shove it in me!"

With a deep, savage growl, Vegeta shoved his massive length all the way into her tight, muscular sheath, sinking up to the hilt until the wide base of his member slammed against the curling outerlips of her vaginal entrance. Wet, sluicing sounds filled the air, exciting them both.

"Ah! That's it!" she moaned, pumping back in exact timing to his lurid strokes, her vaginal walls growing moist and wide and clutching hungrily at his lust-inflamed ramrod. She watched the crude images in the mirror before them, watching him drive his length steadily into her, his muscular body gleaming with a light film of sweat.

His eyes drawn into tight pinpoints of concentration, Vegeta watched the mirror as he pounded into her with mounting intensity. Positioned behind her, gripping her shoulders for support was like looking at a pornographic movie and it made him even more raunchy than before. The sight of their two naked bodies writing obscenely, reflected in the glass, was the most lewd thing he had ever seen- And he reveled in it! He rammed into her without mercy, his hard, muscular buttocks swinging back and forth, his eyes glued to the images in the mirror. His thick, sinewy penis was throbbingly near the bursting point and every muscle he possessed strained with desire for this wanton, thrashing creature trapped beneath him.

"AGH! That's it!" Bulma screamed as he drove brutally into her. "Fuck me harder! Hurt me, Vegeta! Make me _BLEED_!"

Vegeta's head snapped up in shock. He suddenly withdrew and collapsed back on the hard stone of the chamber, staring at her in shock and horror while he struggled to catch his breath. "Wha-what did you just say?"

* * *

"I believe I just said that I love you," Vegeta responded with that same affable charm that radiated from his well-tailored form in waves. He smiled at her affectionately. "I tell you that every chance I get. It's the truth." 

Bulma stared at him as if he had just grown two heads. All of a sudden, she leapt out of her chair and backed up towards the window. "You're not Vegeta," she said, her voice strengthening with every word. "I thought, just for an instant, that maybe it _was_ you in some sort of costume but you're not him. You're not any where close!"

"What the bloody hell are you going on about?" he raged at her and that was when she saw the final truth that confirmed all of her suspicions. Even angry, he lacked that exclamation point between his thick eyebrows. He had the face of a man who had never known hard living, who had been catered to hand and foot, and hadn't done a day's hard labor in all of his life. He was human, educated, and spoiled- like her, and she didn't need a male mirror image of her life to be her husband. What she needed was the man who was the complete antithesis of all that she knew so that she could learn from his life's journeys just as he could from her own.

She needed Vegeta. _Her_ Vegeta.

The fraud stepped around the table and approached. "Bulma-"

"Get away from me!" she screamed at him. "You're not real! None of this is real!"

"Listen to me-" he persisted and this time she brought her hand around to slap him.

The palm of her hand sailed through his head like thick smoke and his form wavered like a mirage. "Holy Dooley! Now you've done it!" he objected but his voice had changed into a high-pitched, reedy whine.

Her surroundings wavered and through parts in the illusion's façade, she saw that she was still standing in the small cave carved into the side of Ayer's Rock. It was like witnessing two dimensions colliding in on each other and the different perspectives made her head swim. Beside her, standing barely three feet away, was Vegeta: the _real_ Vegeta. He was staring at the nearby wall with his head cocked to one side and his mouth slightly open; he looked like he was stuck in a permanent daze.

Bulma tried to move towards him and found herself frozen in place. Whatever force lived in this chamber, it wasn't willing to let go of her just yet. "Vegeta, snap out of it! We're in trouble-"

* * *

"-Vegeta!" 

He swung his head around numbly, trying to isolate the source of the call. It seemed to be echoing from every corner of the bathing chamber, fading into indecipherable mutterings of sound. "Bulma, where are you?"

"Right here, husband," the Saiyan Queen growled, getting slowly to her feet. Her tail puffed out to twice its normal size in her growing fury and she advanced on him, her hands drawn up into tight fists. He made no effort to move away and she gripped him by the throat and pulled him to his feet. "I'm growing sick and tired of your theatrics," she hissed into his face while her claws dug into his skin, drawing small rivulets of blood. "I expect my King to be stronger than this, even when we're alone."

Vegeta barely felt her nails entering his skin. He was examining her face, seeing his human bride interwoven into the features of an alien imposter. There were so many similarities, a mental projection made flesh of how he had always privately wanted Bulma to be, but it was really just a warped mirror image, much like the reflection of their frenzied rut bare seconds before. It was all a private fantasy acted out for his benefit but it hadn't been like he thought it would be. Seeing her act like that, hearing her beg for him to hurt her- It was like biting into a succulent, overripe fruit and finding out, too late, that there were maggots writhing in the core.

Disgusted, he pushed her easily away and she stumbled backwards. For a split second, her form lost cohesion and wavered until it became solid again. That bare second was enough for him to recover. He raised his hand, palm facing up, in her direction. "I was right all along," he said in a flat, emotionless voice. "None of this is real."

"Husband-"

"Especially you," he finished, releasing a blast of ki that sliced through her.

What followed was a brilliant, white flash.

There was a sudden explosion that made his eardrums recoil and he felt himself thrown a short distance to land in loose soil, skidding to a stop several feet away. A body fell on top of him, hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs, and when he managed to pry his eyes open, the Dragonball fell out of the sky and beaned him squarely between the eyes.

"Ow! Shit!" he howled, cradling his forehead.

"Vegeta?" the body on top of him shifted position and stared down at him with genuine concern. "Oh, thank Kami- It's really you!" Bulma gushed and started kissing him even as he was struggled to sit up. Pushing her aside, he managed to get a clear look around and he saw that, ten feet away, the cave was now a black gash of rock and had partially collapsed. "What the hell just happened?"

"I'm not sure but I can hazard a guess," she said, experimentally sniffing the air and grimacing. "When you fired your blast, you ignited the gas and created an explosion."

"Gas? From what?" he asked, still rubbing his aching forehead.

"From who, you mean," she said, arching a knowing eyebrow in his direction.

It took him a few seconds to process what she was trying to say. "Oh," he finally said in a small voice. When he rubbed his stomach, he noticed that it wasn't swollen anymore and the discomfort had lessened.

"Saved by Saiyan gas, who would have thunk it?" Bulma said, obviously amused by the whole thing. She betrayed a brief gust of relieved laughter.

"Certainly not me," piped up a small voice directly in her ear. "Bloody oath, what a stench!"

Perched on her left shoulder was a tiny red lizard. It was standing on its hind legs and had its front legs crossed, scowling at her. "You and your wowser over there destroyed my home!" it cried, blinking at her indignantly.

"What the hell-" Vegeta scrambled to his feet.

"Who are you?" Bulma asked.

"I'm Tatji," the little creature exclaimed proudly. When he saw no reaction or recognition from the pair, he huffed out, "Bloody foreigners. I represent the Dreamtime. The locals call me a totem but I'm really an avatar of Uluru. I live in that cave-" he crimson features tightened into a frown, "Well, lived, anyway. Nobody's visited me for eons so I thought I'd have a spot of fun-"

"FUN!" Vegeta exploded. "You call what you did to us 'fun'?"

"Easy, Vegeta," Bulma soothed. "The little guy was just playing around. Nobody got hurt-"

Vegeta turned on her, his teeth bared, and Bulma saw something that was normally hidden in the raven depths of his eyes. There was rage there, and confusion, but she was astonished to also see a great deal of grief etched in those usually cold orbs. Before she could question, he turned his back on them both and marched stiffly away.

"No sense of humor," Tatji was muttering when Bulma grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and lightly shook him.

"I don't know what you did to him, but tricking us like that was wrong," Bulma said, holding the creature so that they were face to face.

"Was it?" the little lizard queried. Amazingly, he still had his front legs crossed and he stared back at her completely devoid of fear. "All I did was let the Dreamtime show you each your heart's desire."

"What I saw in that boardroom was _not_ my heart's desire."

"No? Are you telling me that you never wondered what your man would have been like if he had been born on this world- Your world? You can't lie to me, or to Altijiranga, the 'Dreaming'. It knows only the truth, little miss, and what you saw, you created all by yourself. Don't blame me if you didn't like it."

"I didn't- I'm not..." Bulma faltered and the lizard took advantage of her confusion and squirmed out of her grip, dropping easily back down into the Australian dirt. It scampered back towards the remains of its cave, released a dismayed curse, and disappeared.

"I created all of that?" Bulma whispered. She wandered over to a rock and sat down, absorbing everything that the little Aboriginal creature had said. It all made sense, sort of. There had been the odd time when she had privately wondered how Vegeta would have looked and acted if he had been originally from earth. It was the clarity of the details that perplexed her: Willingly working for Capsule Corp., wearing his hair in a ponytail, having an earring, _his Jewish faith_? Had all of that really come from her?

"Wow. I must have one hell of an imagination," she muttered, shaking her head in dismay. Of all of those things, it wasn't until he had professed his love to her that brought the whole illusion home. Because it was the one thing that he had never said, even if he showed it in other ways. It was the ultimate vulnerability that he would not allow himself to betray, not even to her. That his double said it so easily had torn her 'heart's desire' delusion to ribbons. The irony of that was not lost on her and she betrayed a laugh that contained little humor.

It finally dawned on her that she was alone and that Vegeta was nowhere in sight. She got to her feet, retrieved the Dragonball, and set out to look for him. When he wanted to move, he could really haul ass and she thought that she saw a figure out on the horizon, steadily walking away.

_Heart's desire_, she privately mused. She wondered what it would be like to be reunited with the extinct people of a destroyed world and finally become their leader as destiny had intended. She realized that she couldn't even begin to scratch the surface of what it must have felt like to have that ripped away a second time. Vegeta needed time to recover and he needed to do it alone. She decided to give the Saiyan his space and follow at a distance. He would come back to her when he was good and ready.

That didn't happen as soon as she had hoped.

Bulma had gotten into her hoverjet and assumed a high altitude while keeping an eye on him. When he had finally stopped walking it had been close to nightfall and she had landed and popped a capsule home for shelter; not to far away from him, just close enough to be noticeable. He appeared to be just staring out at the barren land that marked the Outback, lost in thought. She made herself a meal, with enough leftovers to satisfy him, and went to bed early. She spent the entire night staring at the ceiling wondering if she was doing the right thing. Maybe he wanted company; perhaps he wanted to talk about what had happened. She just didn't know what to do.

It wasn't until the sky began to glow with the first tendrils of dawn that she heard the front door open and close. There was a rustling in the kitchen and she smiled for the first time since Vegeta's ki blast had ignited his gas and saved them from the Dreamtime's hold. He was eating, and that was always a sign that he was going to be all right. Turning on the small lamp beside the bed, she propped herself up on pillows and waited for him.

He entered the room and passed her a brief glance and then began to get undressed. "Let me guess, you didn't sleep either," was all he said.

She shook her head. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to-"

"-I don't," came the harsh reply.

Bulma sighed and dropped her eyes. He crawled into bed beside her, crossed his arms behind his head and lied on his back, staring up at the ceiling, identical to what she had done for hours before. Normally, when he just wanted to go to sleep, he would roll over on his right side. If his body language was any indication, he was still deeply troubled.

She laid on her side and propped her head up with one arm, studying his face. Eventually, his eyes swiveled in her direction. "What?" he asked in a terse growl.

"Vegeta, whatever happened at Ayer's Rock is behind us. Please don't let it get to you. It's over."

His lips became a rigid, bloodless line. "'It's over'," he repeated hollowly. "'The age of Saiyans is over', that's what I tell myself every fucking day. And I was finally starting to believe it until ...until yesterday-" his voice broke and he rolled over and buried his head into the pillow.

Her heart aching, Bulma could do little more than rub his back. Impulsively, she told him of what she had experienced in her own Dreamtime fantasy. And when she described how he had looked in her illusion, she thought that he had calmed down a little and was listening to her every word. That was confirmed when his muffled voice sounded out, "An earring. Preposterous!"

"You were cute," she giggled, "With the little professor glasses and ponytail and all. Maybe when we get back home-"

"Not on a bet, woman," he snapped back.

Smiling, Bulma reached over and turned off the light and snuggled up against him in a spooning position. He didn't object and she wrapped her free arm around his waist, while whispering in his ear, "Any more farts and you'll be sleeping outside with the dingos, mister."

She felt his body move with a barely repressed snort and affectionately kissed his bare shoulder. "I love you, Vegeta."

"I know," came the sleepy response but she was sure that he was smiling as he said it.

Before she slipped off into sleep, her hand wandered down and gently grasped the warm, flaccid length of him and she betrayed a gratified smile as she drifted off.

At least there was ONE thing that Vegeta had in common with his Dreamtime double...

* * *

_(The Saiyan method of date keeping is entirely fictional and not based on any existing DBZ material. As such, it is open to individual interpretation.)

* * *

__Chapter Nine: The final Dragonball is found and the Honeymoon comes to an end._


	10. Chapter 10

A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON © 2006 Darke Angelus

Chapter 9: A Bad Case of Worms

* * *

"Fah-pfty ...fifty, fifty-wun, fifty-too, fifty-for-"

"Fifty- three, boy. You forgot fifty-three."

"Fifty-tree! Fifty-for, fifty-for, uhh ..." Trunks small face screwed up in concentration.

"Fifty-five."

"Fifty-ive! Fifty-eleven? Uhm ... won, too, tree, for-"

"Here we go again," Bulma sighed under her breath as Trunks gamely made his third attempt to count to one hundred. The little boy had been practicing like a possessed soul to try and accomplish 'the mission' his father had ordered three days earlier. He had thought that he had it perfect and had commanded his harried grandmother to call his parents to deliver the carefully rehearsed speech. Now, however, looking into the disappointed scowl of his father, the little Saiyan hybrid was suffering a severe case of stage fright and each attempt was worse than the one before.

"-tenty-five, tenty-seben, tenty-ate-"

"Trunks," Vegeta interrupted, "You need to practice more-"

"No! No! I know it, daddy! A hunnert numbers! Just like you said!"

"Trunks, you can't get past fifty."

"One more time, daddy!" Before Vegeta could open his mouth, the little boy started again; "Wontootreefor-"

Bulma slid in closer to her husband and whispered in his ear, "I know what you're doing."

The Saiyan cocked an eyebrow at her.

"You're stalling," she said.

His eyes swiveled to the cockpit window above the communication monitor and came back in her direction. "Do you blame me?"

The expression on Bulma's face softened when she considered the view beyond the hoverjet window. Everything was the foreboding dark gray blur of a raging blizzard. The small craft was actually rocking on its landing struts from the force of the chilling wind. It was a far cry from all of their previous landing sites during their voyage for the Dragonballs; even the barren Australian Outback was more appealing to the senses than the hellish wasteland that they now found themselves in.

Antarctica.

They were now on the opposite side of the Earth than where they had spent an afternoon in Siberia, enjoying eternal sunlight and temperatures warm enough for t-shirts. Now they were in a desolate, sub-zero freezer with no hope of sunlight to light their way. They had been stuck in the hoverjet for the better part of a day, gamely hoping that the winds would drop, that the snow would stop falling, that the sky would at least lighten up, but it appeared that none of it was going to happen anytime soon.

Bulma was climbing the walls of the tiny vehicle. She was not a woman who took to idleness very well and was pacing around in the cabin in her snow pants and boots, with the parka tied around her waist. She just wanted to get out of the jet, brave the elements, and collect the final Dragonball once and for all. Once that was over and done with, they could go off and enjoy the final days of their honeymoon without any pressure, assured that all there was left to do was make their two wishes and go on with their lives.

It was Vegeta who wasn't budging. He was displaying, if only by actions alone, that his hatred of snow went beyond a past grudge of a Planetary Acclimation Test gone awry. It was probably closer to being genetic in nature. Saiyans were a desert race; well suited for scorching temperatures, harsh environments, and burning suns. Vegeta had experienced snow for the first time as a boy just entering puberty and the experience had not been an enjoyable one. No snowball fights or toboggan rides for him: Just a race across the planet in an endurance test that would have killed a human adult. He had barely succeeded in that trial in a desperate race that had counted down to the last second. The near miss had not endeared him to the conditions that lied beyond the hoverjet now.

On some deep level, Bulma possibly suspected. She noticed how his face tightened up whenever he chanced a glance outside, almost seeming to cringe in his seat. He was barely paying Trunks, who was launching into his fifth attempt, any attention, too lost in his own thoughts. Bulma felt sorry for him (hell, at this point she was beginning to pity them both) but it was time to get things moving.

"Sirty-seben, sirty-sirty-nine? Forty-"

"Trunks, you're doing very good," she cut in mercifully. "Mommy is very proud of you. But you need to practice some more, honey. You don't quite have it down pat just yet."

Alarm rose in the boy's flushed face. "No mommy! One more time-"

"Keep practicing, sweetie. I'll call you tomorrow. I love you!"

"Buh-but-" Bulma shut off the monitor an instant before the youth burst into tears.

There was a touch of admiration in Vegeta's voice when he said, "Damn, woman. That was cold."

"I learned from the best," she said, not unkindly. "It's time to suit up, Vegeta. No more excuses."

His eyes darted to the window again and the corner of his mouth twitched, a rare nervous tic. Just as she was bracing herself for a debate he grumbled something under his breath, rose reluctantly out of the chair, and proceeded to finally get changed. Bulma allowed herself a smile of triumph at the sight of him getting dressed. Any victory over the brusque alien, no matter how minor, was always a source of accomplishment for her. She treasured each success whenever it came, knowing their rarity. When he was dressed in his winter gear she moved to the door to open it, and noticed he was hanging back. Her smile quickly faded.

"What is it?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"My boots don't feel comfortable," he told her and proceeded to take them off. He unpacked his gear and began rummaging through his belongings for something more accommodating. It took awhile. He liked to complain to Bulma about her penchant for packing her entire wardrobe for a mere two-week trip but in reality, the Saiyan was little better. He was a man who, after his prolonged tenure on this planet, was rediscovering a royal fussiness to have the absolute best in clothes and gear. He had endured decades of wearing only soldier armor, enduring sparse accommodations, and limited means; he was starting to treasure his comforts and it took over 20 minutes to finally, thoroughly, go through all of the clothes he had brought. In the end, he hadn't packed an extra pair of snow boots and pulled back on the ones he had discarded.

On the sidelines, Bulma was doing a slow burn knowing full well that Vegeta had only packed the one pair of boots. "If you're finally through, we can-"

"I need to take a leak," he said abruptly and disappeared into the bathroom.

"Agh!" Bulma shouted, slapping her hands to her sides in frustration. She stood by the door, irritably tapping out the seconds with her foot. After about ten minutes, she knocked on the door. "Hey! Did you fall in? Quit stalling!"

He came out, staring daggers at her, and then stepped past her to go into the small kitchen.

Exasperated, she fumed, "Now what are you doing?"

"Are you blind? I'm hungry."

"No, you're not. We just ate."

"Don't you tell me what I'm not. All we had were sandwiches and that was two hours ago. If you could cook worth a damn, we'd have some real food instead of this crap we're eating now."

Bulma felt immediate rage rise in her and fought to submerge it. It was a struggle but she managed to keep it down. "It's not going to work this time, Vegeta," she said in a calm voice.

He pulled open the door to the small fridge and hesitated. "What isn't going to work?"

"You're trying to piss me off so that I'll just walk out on you and go out and get the Dragonball all by myself. That way you'd have an excuse for staying warm and dry in the hoverjet. I'm telling you that it won't work. I'm not budging one step without you." With that she offered him one of her sweetest smiles, crossed her arms, and leaned against the counter. "Go ahead and make your sandwich, sweetheart. I can wait."

He slammed the door shut hard enough to make the glasses on the counter jump. "I'm no longer hungry," he ground out from between clenched teeth. He pulled the snow goggles down over his eyes and pulled up the hood, fastening it securely under his chin. "Let's get this bullshit over with," he snarled, walking over to the door.

"About freaking time..." Bulma muttered under her breath. She hit the panel that released the lock and the door cracked open. Almost instantly, the temperature in the small cabin plummeted to freezing. She was beginning to wonder if her winter clothes, specifically rated for sub-artic excursions, were actually warm enough for this trip. Beside her, Vegeta had his face into the wind, unflinching from the snow that whipped past them and began to settle in the cabin. Before she could say anything, he walked out into the blizzard first, quickly enveloped by the harsh elements.

Bracing herself against a wind that seemed to be blowing horizontal, she hurried after him. "Slow down!" she yelled. "You don't even know where we're going!" She was wiping the frost off of the dial of her Dragonball radar to see the steady pulsing light on the readout that signaled their target was only a few meters away to her left. "Vegeta!"

Against the backdrop of steadily whipping snow, the Saiyan's vague gray silhouette disappeared from her sight. She could hardly believe how poor the visibility had gotten. The hoverjet was at her back, barely ten steps away, and she could barely make it out in the fierce storm. Vegeta had charged off, obviously angry with her, and now she didn't have a clue where he was. His tracks had already filled in.

_VEGETA!_ She tried projecting with her mind. There was no answer. There could be any number of reasons for that; she didn't have any ki for telepathy, Vegeta had his own receptiveness "turned-off", he was already out of range, or, perhaps the most likely reason-

-he was deliberately ignoring her.

"Damn that man," she hissed, at a loss of what to do. After several seconds of rare indecision she decided to go retrieve the Dragonball first, her genius mind reassuring the rest of her that Vegeta was really in no danger. This wasn't a P.A.T. test where he was forbidden to use his powers; if he was in danger he could retreat to a safer destination until the storm passed.

_Retreat. It sounds like a plan,_ Bulma figured as the drastic temperatures penetrated her parka and layered clothes, chilling her to the bone. If she blindly went out to look for him, she would only become lost; doing neither of them any good. As concerned as she was for her hot-tempered mate, she was damned if she was going to be the butt of any of his "weak-little human" jokes. In her own way, she had her own prideful chip on her shoulder.

Staggering against the elements, she followed the readout on the radar and soon knelt down before a pile a snow and started digging. It wasn't long before her efforts were rewarded by that familiar glimpse of orange. Ignoring the blizzard for the moment, Bulma held up the three-star Dragonball to eyelevel, swamped by a feeling of accomplishment and remorse. It was a common feeling for her; one that surfaced after a complicated project was completed, or when an adventure ended. It meant that they would soon be returning home after Vegeta made his wish.

Bulma didn't want the Honeymoon to end but she knew it was unrealistic to continue on like an oblivious love-struck newlywed. The more she thought about it, the more she was coming to grips that perhaps this vacation wasn't her last adventure, as she had feared all along. She had a child to raise, a business to run, and an alien husband to tame. It its own way, that all seemed a much more compelling journey and she was smiling when she tucked the Dragonball into her coat pocket, zipping it shut.

Bracing herself against the wind, she staggered her way back to the hoverjet. She was in the process of lowering the ramp when she felt the ground vibrate beneath the thick padding of her boots.

"What the hell?" she muttered, looking down. The trembling increased to a sickening lurch and there was a sound like a tree trunk snapping far out in the snow-whipped darkness. It was followed by another, and another, getting louder as it seemed to be getting closer to her. All of a sudden the snow parted between her legs as the ice sheet broke apart with a crack that was deafening.

One of the hoverjet struts slipped into the widening gap and Bulma barely had the wits to grab onto the side of the door. She managed to hoist herself into the cabin just as the vehicle tipped over onto its side, precariously balanced over the crevice. Lying on her stomach and helplessly staring out of the open door, Bulma had a mind-numbing view of the black depths of the fissure below her; it seemed to go on forever. She glanced over her shoulder wondering if she would be able to make it over to the cockpit without rocking the craft. The decision was made up for her when another bone jarring snap resounded in the small cabin and the fissure opened up further. The hoverjet plummeted into the black depths, the sides of the hull squealing against the walls of ice and creating a shower of sparks.

Holding onto a seat for dear life, Bulma's panicked thoughts repeated over and over: _Vegeta will save me. Just like in Africa. He'll show up just in the nick of time and save me-_

It didn't happen.

There was a sense of weightlessness that lasted about seven seconds (it seemed to go on forever), before the craft impacted with something hard. The collision ripped Bulma away from her seat, threw her against the roof, and she landed on the floor of the cabin, dazed. She lay there for several minutes in complete darkness before attempting to move her limbs. She was miraculously uninjured; her heavy clothing had protected her from more than just the elements. Crawling over to a supply locker, she rummaged in the emergency gear until her hands closed over a familiar shape. The light from the flashlight was a welcome relief and she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, forcing herself to relax before shining it around the cabin. The front window of the cockpit had shattered and snow had spilled in over the dashboard and seats. The entire hull had assumed a domed ellipse shape from the force of the impact.

_Impact with what?_ She wondered and forced her legs to get moving. Climbing over the snow, she crawled out of the ruined vehicle and shone her flashlight around, at a rare loss for words. The sides of the crevice sliced upwards with the icy precision of a razor, disappearing to darkness that went far beyond the flashlight's beam. She got the sense that she was very far down, perhaps a kilometer deep, maybe more. The cavern echoed with the alien sounds of the ice shelf shifting as the stress of weight and temperature forced millions of tons of compressed snow to grind against itself. It was like listening to fingernails clawing over a chalkboard and Bulma felt her body temperature plummet from something more than just the frigid air. She started to shiver in fear. Here and there, the ice wall was pockmarked by holes of varying sizes and looked like empty eye sockets staring down at her.

"Stop it," she said from between chattering teeth. "You're just freaking yourself out." The beam of her flashlight was visibly shaking and she steadied it with both hands. "It's not as bad as it looks. You still have spare capsules, remember? You're not trapped here!"

She spared herself a nod. "I'm not trapped," she reassured herself and was starting to smile when the ground began to tremble again. "Oh shit, not again-" she threw herself back inside of the ruined craft as there was a tremendous explosion that echoed up and down the fissure, sounding as if a war was being waged this far below the ice. Snow and sleet rained down upon the cabin and the echoes faded into desultory rumbles until... silence.

Finally; "Bulma!"

Braving herself to look up, she saw Vegeta kneeling outside of the ruined cockpit. Her flashlight had turned off and she should not have been able to see him except that he was glowing like a small star. His hood was off and she could see the sharp spikes of blonde hair, indicative of a Super Saiyan transformation. As relieved as she was to see him, all she could think of saying was: "Why did you run off, you idiot? Look at what happened!"

"Are you saying that this is my fault?" he shouted back. He spared a quick look around and then stared back at her as if she were insane. "I'm not the one who split this ice. It-"

"That's not what I'm talking about!" Struggling back out of the craft, she stood up and poked him directly in the chest. "We should have stayed together. You knew that the visibility was poor. Why didn't you come when I called for you?"

His emerald eyes narrowed in rising anger. "I am not your pet."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Stupid woman, I was in no danger. I could sense where you were."

"Then why the hell did you wander off!" she screamed at him, hitting his chest again with one gloved fist.

He caught her wrist and glared at her. "Because it was you who was in danger."

Her breath caught in her throat. Before she could question, there was a sickening crack far above them and a section of the ice wall smashed to the ground a few meters away. Sparse seconds later, another fell out of the darkness like a missile and smashed the hoverjet with the impact, pelting them with icy shrapnel. "Power down, Vegeta."

"What-? Why?"

"Your ki affects gravity. This ice is fragile and it's reacting to the stress you're radiating."

"Bullshit," he scoffed but when his aura flared, the ice nearby buckled and a piece as big as a Volkswagen sheered apart and collapsed right beside him. He stared down at it for a few seconds and then extinguished his ki without another word of debate. They were swiftly enveloped by darkness.

His voice drifted over to her, dripping with sarcasm, "That was brilliant."

"Shut up, I have a flashlight."

"Don't tell me to shut up!"

"Listen buster-"

Bulma felt him roughly pull her back just as another huge chunk of the ice wall fell right beside her. She turned on the flashlight and saw a boulder-sized portion of snow looming over them both.

"I wouldn't piss me off if I were you," he said with deadly seriousness, pulling her back again as more pieces rained down from above. "We have to get out of here right now!" He wrapped his arms around her waist and took off in a deliberate vertical course, wasting no time on technique. He just wanted to get them topside.

Bulma shone her flashlight above them and screamed warning when another boulder fell towards them. Reacting instinctively, Vegeta blasted it with a ki bolt and the ice walls shuddered from the onslaught, immediately shattering into body-sized chunks of deadly shrapnel.

"Shit-" was all that Vegeta had time to say before diverting his course in mid air.

He flew them into one of holes that marred the sidewalls of the fissure, colliding with ice as the hole arced sharply downwards in a 90-degree angle. Bulma was freefalling until her chest fell against the slick wall of ice and she found herself sliding down headfirst at breakneck speed. Managing to keep a hold of her flashlight, she could see that she was in a tunnel of sheer ice. The surfaces were perfectly smooth, impossible to get a grip on, and it was like traveling down a bobsled ramp without the protective gear.

There was a scraping sound behind her, followed by a multitude of curses and she swung the flashlight over her left shoulder, looking back. Vegeta was sliding down on his back and all she could see were his flailing legs trying to slow his progress along the slick walls. He was dragging his fingernails along the ice, creating deep furrows as he tried to slow his descent but it wasn't enough. Their angle of descent was too sharp.

"Try to relax and just go with it!" she called out.

"Screw that!" came the predictable response. He braced his legs on either side of the tunnel and the heels of his boots grated against the ice as he dug them in.

Bulma looked ahead again and felt her blood run cold at what she saw. "Vegeta-!"

"Shut up!"

"Pull your legs together. Quick!"

_"I said shut the fuck u-"_

The tunnel abruptly branched off in a "Y" and Bulma sped swiftly down the right tunnel. All she could do is wince when she heard the bone jarring impact as Vegeta collided with the hard wedge separating the two tunnels, and she knew that he hadn't hit it headfirst, either. Just as she was starting to call out to him again, she exited into a large ice cave and had her momentum slowed by the piles of snow and slush before coming up against the far side of the immense cavern. A few seconds later, the Saiyan tumbled out of the second tunnel. He groaned, pulled himself into a shivering ball, and went still.

She got quickly to her feet to go to him and was rewarded by the sound of cracking ice. She looked down at her boots in dismay. "Oh crap, not aga-" Her weight broke the fragile ice cover of an underground lake and she plummeted into the freezing water before she could finish her last word. She immediately gasped out all of the air in her lungs as the numbing cold enveloped her, clouding her thoughts. The flashlight pin-wheeled from her spasming fingers and sank down into the black depths, the beam growing dimmer and finally disappearing from her sight.

_That'll be you, dummy, if you don't start moving,_ came a thought through her shocked mind. Frantically kicking her legs, she managed to grab a hold of the edge of the ice only to have it break off in her hand. She was trying to call out to Vegeta for help, but the cold was affecting her coordination and all she could manage to do was make nonsense sounds of desperation. Her parka was weighing her down and in a burst of panic she struggled to get out of it before the weight pulled her under. Grabbing a half-breath of air, she thrashed about in the water, fighting the zipper and finally getting the heavy coat off. It sank like a stone and Bulma, unburdened, made another desperate grasp for the edge of the ice. Just as her hand slipped again, another closed securely around her wrist.

Through her dimming vision, she could see Vegeta lying on the ice. He was holding her with one hand while the other glowed with repressed ki energy. He quickly pulled her out of the water, making the thin ice barrier groan with the added weight, and dragged her over to the nearest cavern wall.

"Th-th-tha-than-"

"Here," he said, shrugging out of his own parka. "Even half-frozen, your tongue doesn't stop wagging, does it?" If she had any of her wits she would have noticed that he was moving slowly, far slower than normal, but she was only relieved to have the warmth of his coat when he offered it to her. "Th-thanks," she managed to finally get out through her chattering teeth as she pulled it around her shoulders.

He only offered her a half-nod and then squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly sitting down beside her and cradling his crotch.

"Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay!" he snapped back. "I just got gelded back there and it hurts like hell, alright? Shit!" He bent briefly double and breathed harshly through clenched teeth.

Like most women, Bulma didn't truly comprehend the severity of that particular male vulnerability and could only rub his back, at a loss of what else to do for him. "Maybe we can use the second wish to undo any damage," she offered, half-teasing and half-serious. Sudden realization came crashing into her and she looked over at the water with rising horror. "Oh no! Damn it! How could I have been so stupid?"

He squinted at her. "What?"

"The last Dragonball was in my coat!" She was pointing at the water. "I had to get it off before I drowned!"

Blinking in confusion for a few seconds, it finally dawned on him what she was saying. In a flash, he was on his feet and running for the opening in the ice. Before she could even call out a warning, he dove into the freezing water without a second's hesitation.

_"!VEGETA!"_ she screamed.

He had taken the precious ki light with him and now she was left alone in the chilling darkness, too scared to move in any direction. All that her straining senses could detect were the sounds of cracking ice and the low creaking moans of the ice shelf as it settled around her. Vegeta could hold his breath for up to thirty minutes under optimum conditions. With the water temperature near freezing that time was probably halved. Perhaps he was already out of breath, clawing frantically at the ice, unable to find the opening...

"Come back... Please, come back to me," Bulma whispered, putting her trembling hands to her face and peering out from between her splayed fingers. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and froze on her pale cheeks. She had never felt so helpless in all of her life. The last time she had ever felt this vulnerable, she had been stranded on Namek while Gohan and Krillin had gone off and left her behind to search for the Dragonballs. Frieza's soldiers had been on the hunt for all of them and added into the mix had been her terror of another deadly rogue also patrolling the planet. Her exhausted naps had been full of terrifying nightmares of Vegeta finding her alone and attacking her. She had been so scared of him back then. He had been ruthless, out of control, diabolical, bad to the bone-

- And sexy as hell. She could admit it now even if she was in denial back then. It had been watching him face off against the alien named Zarbon that had done it. The Saiyan had toyed with him like a cat with a mouse, showing off in front of her. All for her benefit? She wasn't sure but after the battle, he hadn't harmed her. It had been at the moment that she felt he had changed since that terrible conflict on Earth, and definitely for the better. It had opened infinite possibilities that her genius mind immediately began to sort out.

Four years later and here she was, thinking her life was going to come to an end if her husband; that selfsame ruthless, out of control, diabolical, bad to the bone, sexy as hell rogue, dared to die on her. It was funny the curve balls that life threw you, but she wasn't prepared to laugh about it quite yet. He had been underwater for close to five minutes and she suddenly felt a tickle in the back of her mind, meaning he was trying to bridge thoughts with her.

_Vegeta...?_ she attempted.

_- Radiate your thoughts! Hard as you can! This freaking cave is huge and I don't know where to go!_

_You mean you're lost? Is this your way of asking me for directions?_

Vegeta's mind briefly adopted somber hues of fleeting anger and embarrassment punctuated with a few colorful curses for good measure. –_ Knock it off! I'm not alone down here!_

"Wha-?"

_-!CONCENTRATE DAMMIT!_

Flinching at the tone of his mental shout, Bulma reined her thoughts in and projected over and over: _- I'm here, I'm right here. I'm here-_

About thirty seconds later, Vegeta burst through the ice cover gasping for air. She could hear his quick breathing in the frigid darkness and she recoiled in surprise when he suddenly powered up, shielding her eyes at the sudden illumination. "Power down! What did I tell you about the gravity?"

"Screw it!" he snapped, levitating out of the water and flying over to her. She was astonished to see that he had actually succeeded in retrieving her parka. "We're getting out of here right now!"

There was an expression on his pale face that she had never seen before and she realized with dread that it was pure panic. "What did you see? What was down there?" The fragile ice along the ceiling of the cave was beginning to crack along various stress points, raining down on them and threatening to collapse. She heard another sound behind them and whirled in time to watch as the layer of ice over the frozen lake surged upwards and shattered. The water started to churn and froth with increased motion.

Some... _thing_ was coming for them. Something huge.

"Vegeta!" Bulma screamed in alarm.

The Saiyan had both of his hands tucked into his right side, concentrating fiercely to gather as much ki as he possibly could, and brought them straight up, firing off a concentrated energy beam from his hands and body. Bulma recognized the blast as his Galactic Gun, the attack that had almost destroyed the Earth. It was similar in strength and scope to Gokou's Kamehameha Wave and she wasn't reassured to see him using it now.

The energy discharge slammed into the ceiling and melted a ten-foot wide hole as it blasted its way to the surface. Before she could question what was happening, Vegeta snatched up the parka and pulled her close and leapt for the new exit just as something burst through the lake screaming with a high pitched wail of rage that went almost into the ultra sonic range. She slapped her hands to her ears but her cry of pain was lost to the inhuman shriek. Following the contrail of his energy blast, Vegeta appeared to ignore it but his speed increased until Bulma found herself struggling to catch a breath. Her soaked clothes were freezing rapidly on her skin and by the time they made it to the surface, her hair was one frozen mat and she had lost feeling in her entire body.

The blizzard was still raging and Vegeta didn't stop their ascent until they were well above the churning clouds. He looked cautiously around, relieved to see the familiar glint of stars and finally remarked in a calmer tone; "They can't fly. We're safe up here."

He got no response and spared Bulma a glance. She looked unusually pale in the dim light and when he touched her, she was as cold as the icy crypt they had just escaped from. "Bulma?" It took him a few seconds to grasp what was wrong and when it hit him, he felt like slapping himself; She had been soaked in ice water and their swift retreat had lowered the temperature down to alarming levels. This altitude was making things worse.

Even though he was powered up, his ki-infused form didn't project any more body heat than the normal non-powered form. His clothes were as ice-covered as hers and there was a frozen forelock of hair that kept hanging in his face, interfering with his vision. As the adrenaline rush of his close encounter beneath the water began to subside, he could feel the dangerous chill start to penetrate his stiff clothes. His alien hide was tougher to dealing with drastic temperature shifts than a human but he didn't like the cold, no Saiyan did. If he were alone, he'd just speed a swift course for the nearest shelter.

_... alone..._ But he wasn't alone and he had no intentions of living like that ever again, not if he could help it.

"Bulma!" He slapped her cheek and was relieved to see a brief flutter of her eyelids, but that was all. She was hypothermic, he understood that but he had to struggle with a way to help her. This was not his forte and he was found to be considerably lacking in this particular area. Killing people, making them suffer; he could come up with at least a thousand different ways to accomplish the task. _But save one simple life?_ He was drawing an alarming blank...

"Shelter. We'll start with that," he said aloud, hoping that on some level she could hear his voice and maybe draw some measure of comfort from it. Or amusement. He still couldn't quite figure out how her mind worked. "We're on the ass-end of this miserable planet, on a continent with no cities or towns and it's the dead of winter. Shit." He knew that he had to drop down to the surface quickly but the thought of coming near those... things made his skin crawl. He continued to debate the issue in his mind until Bulma made a pained moan and that settled it once and for all. He created a barrier around their forms to protect them from the worst of the elements and dropped back down into the storm.

Rummaging through the pockets of the retrieved parka, he pulled out Bulma's capsule packet and squinted at the five tiny capsules inside of the frozen case. One was for storage, one was a car, another a spare hoverjet, a hoi poi house, and the last was a speedboat. They were as waterlogged and frozen as their owner but Vegeta extracted the hoverjet in the hopes that they could still make a warm retreat. The lever wouldn't depress. It was frozen solid.

"Piece of shit," he cursed and tried the car. The lever depressed but when he threw it to the side, it didn't activate. It was a dud. He picked up the Hoi Poi capsule and looked at it with dread. Early Saiyans had been a superstitious breed but there had never been any deity or symbol that invoked the necessity of prayer. A human might use this moment to offer up an entreaty to their God but Vegeta did the only thing he knew:

"You'd better fucking work," he hissed at it and forced the lever down with his thumb. When he threw it away it immediately detonated and he was heartened by his change of luck until he got a closer look at it. Only half of the yellow dome had materialized and the other side was caved in and deformed from its exposure to the cold. Still, it was either that or they could be using a stupid speedboat for shelter (and that was only if the stinking thing worked, which he doubted anyway).

He carried Bulma into the small structure and sealed the entrance shut. It was freezing cold inside but it kept the howling wind at bay. When he tried to activate the power, he discovered that the side that hadn't completely materialized had been where the power unit was housed. No lights, no heat. The kitchen hadn't formed either. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to keep his anger at bay and desperately hoped that it wouldn't be a losing battle. Bulma needed him; he had to keep reminding himself of that fact. Reverting back to his old, selfish ways weren't going to help anyone.

"What do I do next?" he muttered under his breath, staring helplessly down at his shivering bride. "Damn it! What am I supposed to do?"

_You have to remove the wet clothes,_ an old voice whispered from his memories. It was from the Reptilian healer who had treated him, Nappa, and Radditz after their blizzard world P.A.T. They hadn't been in much better shape then he was right now. What else had he said? He said- "Your core temperature is too low and has to be raised slowly. Immersion in warm water is best but, barring that, flesh-to-flesh contact would do."

Vegeta remembered Nappa extending his arms out to Radditz and saying, "Come a little closer so I can hug you!"

"Get away from me!" Radditz had screamed, no doubt remembering the huge Elite's kiss during the mission.

"Flesh-to-flesh," Vegeta muttered. He supposed it made sense. Their wet clothes were sucking the heat from their bodies. He took his off first and, yes, it did make a difference albeit a small one. He was really starting to feel the cold now and the tips of his fingers and toes were losing their feeling. Kneeling beside Bulma, he began undressing her next. A part of him hoped that she would wake up while he was doing the act and make one of her usual comebacks, hell even a groan would give him some reassurance that she would be alright, but she remained oblivious.

When he was done he threw the clothes to the side and looked around for something to cover them with. In desperation he ripped up the carpet and pulled Bulma's nude body close to his own, hissing at how cold her flesh was. Holding her tightly, he grabbed a handful of the loose carpet and rolled their bodies around until they were cocooned in several layers the tough fabric. It certainly wasn't the 500-thread count Egyptian sheets he liked to sleep in but this would definitely serve its purpose. He was already starting to feel a little better and he thought that he could detect a change in Bulma's body temperature as well. Little by little, her bone-jarring shivers were beginning to fade to light trembling. He figured it was a good sign and his anxiety began to finally back off.

"You're tough," he muttered out loud. "You may not have the ki to fight your way out of a wet paper bag, but you're tough as nails." He rubbed his cheek against hers back and forth; part of it was to share his body heat, another as a sign of affection. Kissing was a human concept. Under any other circumstances he would probably find the situation highly erotic: Trapped in the wilds of an untamed land with a naked beautiful woman, her arms and legs entangled around his own, while an unknown enemy looked for them both. Unfortunately, she was unconscious – that was no fun. And, truth be told, he was still too damned sore from his impact with the ice to want to get an erection. It would only hurt him more. Right now, he was content to just hold her in the darkness and wait for her to wake up.

_...What if she didn't wake up?..._ The question nagged away at him as he laid with her in the darkness and the long minutes ticked on in his internal clock and became hours. Humans were a fragile race and she might have been damaged from this intense exposure. Humans could die from the most trivial of things; a fall, an infection, sometimes even for no explainable reason. This forced him to consider a serious matter he had purposely avoided until now: _What would happen if Bulma died?_ That was the question that began eating away at him as he held her. He wondered when his concern for this woman began to really take hold with him and he was bewildered when he couldn't come up with any concrete answer. It had been such an imperceptible change... _Would he have cared if she had died on Namek?_ No. _When Android 20 had shot the hoverjet down?_ He hesitated there. So somewhere in that span of three years he had begun to feel some measure of fondness for her. How was that possible? He was Prince Vegeta, the scourge of seven systems and evil to the core. He did not bond, nurture, or adore – those were all human concepts. So how was it possible that this non-powered human female had managed to find a way to tame him and make him feel... content?

_What would happen if she died?_ He was stymied by his inability to come up with any answer and he wanted desperately for her to wake up so that he could stop this pointless brooding. He always figured that he would be the first to die in this odd relationship; Kami's prophetic warning of his early demise notwithstanding. There had never been any hint of a rumor of a Saiyan ever dying of old age. The warring race had lived short, violent lives and died in brutal ways. Nappa had been the oldest he had ever known, dying at 68. The seasoned veteran of a hundred, bloody battles, the huge Elite had often expressed remorse of not falling in combat with his peers when he had been in his prime. In light of that, Vegeta figured he had done his old bodyguard a favor by putting him down personally. He, himself, was not scared of dying, only of dying badly, and being the first one to die in this relationship put him conveniently off the hook of responsibilities and obligations he had never bothered to consider. Until right this moment.

Not possessing much of an imagination, he had to rationalize the situation with the detachment of a strategist: If Bulma died right here, he would-would... bring the body back to Capsule Corporation, explain what had happened (and endure the criticism from her brainless friends and family), and attend whatever pointless funeral rites that Earth had in store for a corpse. Trying to fathom the emotional impact that the situation might have on him was virtually impossible. Humans grieved the deaths of people they cared about. It was expected, even encouraged. He had never cared about anything before. Even his own sense of self-preservation was a precarious thing. He didn't know how he would react to Bulma's death. Just considering the mere possibility left him feeling oddly numb. He only knew that he would be alone again, he knew all to well what loneliness was, and he figured that all he could do was leave Earth and move on with his life somewhere else. He nodded in satisfaction. _Yes, that would be the order of things. No loose ends left behind-_

_-Except for Trunks._

"Shit!" he growled, thumping his head against the floor in frustration. How the hell could he forget about his son? There was no way he was going to leave the boy in the hands of those meat-beating losers of the Earth's Z Fighters. Or, even worse, her parents. How was he expecting to travel out into space with a toddler underfoot? And not just any toddler, a Saiyan/human hybrid toddler who was just discovering a penchant for mischief.

Bulma released a low moan and Vegeta had to submerge the desire to start frantically shaking her. He didn't want to think about these matters anymore. They were... disturbing. "Woman, wake up!" Only in his Oozaru form did he have any kind of infrared vision to boast but he could make out the barest outline of her features as she struggled with consciousness. "Bulma!"

"...don' wanna go to school t'day, momma..." she muttered, and started to snore.

This time Vegeta DID shake her. "I'm _NOT_ your brain-dead mother, woman. Wake the hell up!"

"...Uhm? Wha- Vegeta? Where are-" Her eyes snapped open in shock. "Geez! It's freaking cold!"

"No kidding," he commented, privately grateful that she couldn't see how relieved he truly was to see her conscious. There didn't appear to be any lingering after-effects from her exposure and she was back to her shrill, exuberant self. He was actually smiling.

That was until Bulma began thrashing around in the confined space and her knee connected with his still-aching groin. He grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her; "We're alright! I popped open a Hoi Poi capsule for shelter."

"Buh-but there's no lights- No heat!-"

"The capsule was damaged by the water."

She shivered against him and it registered that her hands were making contact with bare flesh. "You... undressed me? You did all this?"

"I-" He didn't know what to say, unsure if she was angry or relieved. She suddenly wrapped she arms around his neck and started showering his face with kisses as she gushed: "You saved me, Vegeta! You saved my life! Thank you! I love you sooo much!"

"Uhm," He grunted, still at a loss for words. In the back of his mind, he was running a constant score card of the number of times they had saved each other lives. Bulma was far and away the leader, even for actions that she was unaware. He knew that he still had a lot of catching up to do but it was an encouraging start.

He kissed her back but it was a perfunctory gesture and she immediately noticed the distance in his manner. "What's wrong?"

He scowled down at her. "What do you think? We can't stay here."

"Oh no?" She extended her arms over her head and arched her back. "Two young, beautiful newlyweds trapped together in a small room, all alone with no one around for miles..."

It was amazing how similar their minds worked, Vegeta mused, but she was wrong about one thing: "We're not alone, woman. Not anywhere close."

That broke the moment. Bulma grabbed onto him again. "In that underground cave, something was coming out of the water after you. What was it?"

"You mean: 'What were they'?"

"Vegeta!"

"Void Worms," he told her, betraying a revolted tremor at the thought. "They've completely taken over this area."

"Worms? That's disgusting! Where'd they come from?"

"Their eggs drift in space and attach onto passing crafts that travel slower than light speed. They can only live in cold regions, which is why they've adapted to this environment. I don't know how they've gotten to Earth. But they're here. And thriving."

Bulma's mind raced with the information, remembering the ice walls of the crevasse perforated with holes of varying sizes. "What do they eat?"

"Anything that moves. They feat on themselves when food is scarce. It's about the only thing that keeps their numbers down-"

"But their numbers aren't down! You saw all of the holes in the ice. They're everywhere!"

"The waters here are probably full of aquatic life. It must be what's sustaining them."

"Well, we have to stop them!"

"Screw that!"

"They're eating whales and seals and-and helpless little penguins. We can't let that happen."

"Those 'helpless little penguins' can damn well fend for themselves. We have to get out of here before the worms catch our scent."

"Scent-"

"They're blind but their entire body is made up of olfactory receptors. We've been lucky with the blizzard outside. The winds are masking us."

She stared at him closely in the darkness. "You seem to know an awful lot about these things. Have you met them before?"

"You could say that."

"Where?"

He debated on not answering, eager to get the hell out of the area. Without an explanation he knew that she wouldn't budge an inch. "Frieza had lost contact with one of his warships. He sent Nappa, Radditz and I to investigate."

"Boy, he chose you guys for all of his shit jobs, didn't he?" she said with amazing bitterness.

"Uhm. Anyway, we found the warship floating in space, without power, and riddled with holes. At first we thought they were made from a battle until we went inside and discovered that a swarm of void worms had taken it over and eaten the crew. They were still hungry when we intruded. We barely made it back to base alive."

"You were hurt? How badly?"

"I had a number of superficial bites all over my body but they weren't the problem. Void Worm saliva is loaded with eggs. By the time we got back to a regeneration chamber, we had maggots chewing themselves out of our wounds."

Bulma's stomach roiled in disgust. He spoke about the incident in his usual blunt, matter-of-fact tone but she wasn't fooled by the indifference. When they had been trapped far below the surface, she had heard his fear in his projected thoughts, and seen it clearly on his face when he had emerged from the water. He hated the worms but he was scared of them, too. "That's just horrible, Vegeta. My god, you've been put through so much-"

"No pity, Bulma," he said in a hard voice. "We've been over this before."

"I know, I know." She had to guard her thoughts carefully so that he wouldn't pick them up. Just when she had thought she'd heard one horror story from his past, he trumped it with another and she hadn't even begun to scratch the surface of his past life yet. "But Vegeta, we can't just let these things take over Antarctica."

"'We' can't? Last time I checked, I had the power here and I'm telling you I'm not battling another swarm of Void Worms. That one time was enough."

"But-"

"The matter is closed, woman. There will be no further debate on this issue." He held her close and rolled them out of the protective covering and once the cold air made contact with her bare skin, Bulma forgot all about the worms. She screamed and darted back under the carpet. "There's no way I'm going back outside in those wet clothes. I'm staying right here!"

Vegeta pulled a lone capsule from his armpit and held up his free hand and illuminated it with some ki. "It's the storage capsule from the frozen packet. I've warmed it up but I didn't want to force it. Will it work?"

She took it from him and examined as closely as she could in the dim light. "We have the Dragonballs stored inside this, don't we?"

"Among other things, like some dry clothes."

"Keep your fingers crossed," she said and pressed the lever and threw across the room. It exploded in a cloud of smoke and two suitcases materialized, along with some souvenirs and, most importantly, the other six Dragonballs, all perfectly intact. They cast a feeble golden glow in the room. At the sight, both Vegeta and Bulma released a sigh of relief.

"We never tested the capsules for sub-zero conditions," Bulma commented as they got dressed. There weren't any winter clothes in her suitcase but she put on as many layers as she could find. "Or ever bothered to make them water-proof. I guess that I've got some things to work on when we get back home."

Vegeta nodded as he pulled on several pairs of jogging pants, four t-shirts and then a wind-breaker. When he was done, he looked like he had gained twenty pounds. As he repacked his remaining belongings, he looked up sharply and cocked his head to one side.

Bulma watched him closely. "What's wrong?"

"I think-" He went silent again and this time she heard it; a high pitched wail, almost beyond the range of human hearing. They cast each other an almost comical look and then began rushing around the damaged shelter. Bulma retrieved the seventh, and final, Dragonball from the frozen parka and encapsulated it with the others. She couldn't even relish the moment of satisfaction that they had successfully accomplished their goal. Vegeta went to the door, unsealed and opened it, and she ran into his back when he stood frozen in the doorway.

"Vegeta?"

He didn't respond and she had to peer over his shoulder. "Oh God!" she cried in horror.

The entire Hoi Poi house was surrounded by a writhing swarm of naked, pulsating Void Worms. They were slowly circling the small building, their white, tubular bodies crawling over and under each other in a never-ending parade of undulating flesh. They were blindly extending their heads to the wind, making keening sounds of frustration. As Bulma continued to watch, they were beginning to register a change in the air. One by one, their movements slowed and they began to angle their heads towards the doorway. That was when she saw the gnashing circles that were their mouths. And teeth. Lots and lots of razor sharp teeth. "We have to get out of here- _RIGHT NOW!_" she screamed directly into Vegeta's ear.

He flinched away from her and blinked for a few seconds. "Away ...Right," he muttered. The blankness of his face suddenly became animated again and transformed into a mask of rage. "Disgusting creatures!" He screamed, releasing a blast of ki that incinerated a smaller worm that was crawling rapidly towards them. That action immediately attracted the rest of the swarm and he wrapped an arm around Bulma and burst through the ceiling as hundreds of the ravenous worms attacked.

They leapt onto the small shelter, immediately demolishing it, and began to coalesce into a tight, swirling ball. Eventually, the writhing circle of bodies began to turn amber, staining the surrounding snow.

"What are they doing?" Bulma asked in confusion, looking down from their secure elevation from where they levitated above the swarm.

"Feeding frenzy," Vegeta remarked, deliberately looking away and trying desperately not to puke in front of Bulma. He gagged once and got his gorge partially under control by an act of sheer will. "They're eating each other." He forced himself to look down and extended his hand, releasing a ki blast that quickly dispatched the rest of the foulsome parasites. When the smoke was quickly swept away by the wind, all they could see was a crater with a few twitching cinders surrounding it.

There was another wailing screech that caught their attention, and they could make out a massive shadow in the distance. Beginning to shiver from something far more severe than just the cold, Bulma realized that something huge was quickly coming towards them. "Is it their mother?" she dared to ask.

"No," he said, watching the approaching shadow with an expression of revulsion and dread. "Just a full grown one."

"How big do they get?"

"Their size is limited to the amount they can eat. Maybe a hundred feet long, maybe even two."

Her arms tightened around him with panicked urgency. "We can't let these things live, Vegeta!"

He didn't respond, staring down at the crater beneath them.

"The Antarctica ice shelves have been breaking up for over a decade. Scientists thought that it was Global Warming or holes in the ozone to blame, but it them! Those filthy worms are making the ice brittle by chewing all of those holes through it! It's raising the ocean levels. It's affecting the entire planet!"

He regarded her closely. "The only thing that I can do is blast this region with a Final Flash. Won't that just make things worse?"

"It would have to be better than letting them spread all over the Continent."

"It won't kill them all."

"But it'll slow them down, right? Yamacha and the rest of the Z Fighters can handle it after that. That's what the Government pays them for! To clean up threats to the Earth!"

One heavy eyebrow lifted at that little bit of information. The thought of the selfsame warriors associated with his first defeat having to endure this freezing wasteland and search and destroy insatiable Void Worms came as something of an odd source of comfort for the squeamish Saiyan. He briefly entertained the attractive fantasy of a worm attaching itself to the rear end of Bulma's idiotic ex-lover.

For no good reason that Bulma could fathom, she thought that she saw a hint of a smile cross her husband's face before he submerged it. "...Vegeta?"

"All right. I've thought of something that just might help, but you're not going to like it."

That put her immediately on guard. "Why not?"

He looked at her slyly. "Do you trust me?"

Barely a minute later, Bulma stood shivering in knee-deep snow and cast anxious glances around her barren surroundings. That looming shadow in the distance was growing closer with alarming speed and she was starting to make out more shrieking calls coming from other directions, adding their voice to the huge monster. The blowing winds and swirling snow was limiting her field of vision to no more of a distance than about ten feet

"I can't believe I'm going along with this," she muttered under her breath.

_- Quit your pissing and moaning, you're in no danger, _Vegeta immediately shot back. In the sky a fair distance away, she could barely make out the glowing dot that was her husband slowly gathering the ki necessary for a successful attack.

"That a fact? I'm sure you'd be more than glad to trade places with me if I had the power!" There was no response to that and she crossed her arms and huffed, "Of course not. Hypocrite."

The ground beneath her feet trembled and several worms burst out of the snow cover to her left. Showtime, Bulma thought bleakly, standing her ground. "Hey you! Yeah, I'm talking to you, ugly! Over here! Hey!" She jumped up and down, waving her arms back and forth and screaming at the top of her lungs. Vegeta had said that they were blind but she didn't think that they were deaf.

It wasn't long before her actions attracted the roving worms' attention and they zeroed in on her, their jaws snapping in eager anticipation of a simple meal. One coiled like a snake and leapt for her. Bulma braced herself when the worm suddenly rebounded off of the barrier that Vegeta had formed around her. It snapped the air in fury and leapt at her again, creating a flash of red static. When it drew back, its blunt muzzle was noticeably singed from the barrier and it was drooling ocher-colored mucus peppered with shards of broken teeth. That damage only attracted its peers and several larger worms darted in and ripped the first attacker to ribbons right before Bulma's eyes. She was helpless to do anything but watch as the swarm became incited by the smell of blood and began biting anything that came near their gnashing jaws. In less than a minute she was caught dead center in the middle of a savage feeding frenzy that encompassed over a thousand worms of various sizes. The smaller ones were quickly consumed by the larger parasites until the barrier around Bulma was steaming from the blood and fluids being shed from the slaughter.

Bulma was completely nauseated at the sight. "Vegeta..."

_- Almost... there_, he projected.

The ground beneath her trembled and there was that high pitched wail again. Bulma had to clamp her hands over her ears before her eardrums ruptured. There was a secondary lull in the massacre just long enough for something huge to drop down and gobble up over a hundred of the writhing worms in a single bite. Bulma managed one stunned blink before craning her head back and looking up, and up... There were undulating bodies all around her, but through parts in the writhing ball she saw a shadow rearing far above her, chewing with satisfaction. _One hundred feet?_ Its head actually disappeared in the low cloud cover as it raised itself up to its full height. If that thing wasn't over five hundred, she'd be surprised. "Vegeta!"

_- Hold on-_

_"!VEGETA!"_ she screamed as the huge behemoth began to come down again for another meal. The rest of the worms appeared oblivious to the threat, self-preservation clearly not in their limited intelligence, and continued their insatiable gorging on each other. She lost sight of the monster until there was another piercing screech and all of the worms struggling on the top of the barrier suddenly disappeared in a single bite. This time, Bulma got a good look at the full-sized Void Worm, far clearer than she would have liked. Its teeth scissored back and forth barely ten feet away from her shocked gaze, gnawing the smaller worms to an amber pulp. Droplets of drool fell from its jaws and landed in the barrier and yes, when she dared herself to look closer she could see them: Tiny eggs and wriggling maggots that made up the worm's saliva, immediately sentencing anything it bit to a slow and agonizing death if they didn't get treatment quickly. The thought of Vegeta having to endure that torture dissolved any of her fear and she started screaming in rage: "You stinking, slimy bastards! I'm gonna go home and design something that will make you wish you were back in space-"

_- Woman-_

"-You hear me, you over-grown maggot? Yeah you! I hope that you choke, you ugly piece of-"

-_ Bulma! I-_

" –a quick end is too good for you ugly shits! You deserve to suffer for all that you've done to the Earth-"

_- Damn it! Would you-_

"-I'd come out there myself and kick your greasy ass if I could-"

_- !BULMA! I'M READY!_

"Huh?" She turned around, blinking heavily as if coming out of a spell. Hovering above her, even the huge worm appeared to be hypnotized by the tirade. It shook its huge head and suddenly released another shriek of fury and lunged for her. The barrier held, but barely, flashing red fire as the shields tried to repel the infuriated attacker. Bulma ducked as one tooth managed to break through before the barrier snapped back and broke it off. She frantically kicked snow over it as she tried to get as much distance away from it as she could manage in the small space. "Okay, I think I'm finished with playing bait for these monsters now, Vegeta. Do you hear me? _Hellooo_!"

There was no response but she could feel the ground start to shake and her ears popped as there was a sudden change in the air pressure. The worms that were still all or partially intact could detect the change and finally ceased in their mindless gorging, raising their blind heads to the wind and trying to get a sense of what was wrong. They couldn't see that the area was getting brighter, as if the sun had decided to make an appearance, but Bulma was all too aware of what was approaching; Vegeta's Final Flash in all its glory. She had heard about it from Krillin, of all people. It was the blast that had nearly destroyed Complete Cell. Mirai Trunks had been sure that it was going to destroy the Earth in the bargain, but Vegeta had displayed enormous control by angling the blast so that it would ricochet off of the ocean and go out into space.

She was hoping for that control now.

The light was getting uncomfortably bright and the worms were starting to get the sense that something was seriously wrong. They started backing away, beginning to get a sense of the heat, which was fatal for them. Bulma shielded her eyes from the rapidly approaching ball of coalescing energy, able to make out the light from even behind her closed eyelids. She didn't even have the time to wonder if she was going to suffer the same fate as the worms when Vegeta suddenly phased in beside her, panting and out of breath. When he phased again, he took her with him and barely two seconds later, his Final Flash obliterated the area, turning the gigantic swarm, including the huge adult, instantly into ash. It melted the ice shelf right down to the ocean level in an expanding fissure that, at its widest, was over eight hundred feet. The surrounding clouds evaporated as the blast rushed through and, like its predecessor, it hit the water and angled off into the stratosphere, dissipating harmlessly in outer space.

"Wow," Bulma managed to whisper from her vantage point on a rocky peak about a kilometer away. "That just about beats any fireworks show I've ever seen in my life!"

"Glad... I could entertain... you," Vegeta gasped out from beside her.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Just takes a lot... out of me, that's all."

The light from the Final Flash was fading and taking away her view of the damage. From what she could see their plan had worked. She had been a draw for the worms to congregate in one area so that he could nail as many as possible with a single blast. "How much of a percentage of the worms did we get, do you think?"

He wiped his brow with a trembling hand and got to his feet. His knees threatened to buckle but he stayed erect by sheer force of will. "Fifty percent. Maybe sixty..."

She looked up at him in dismay. "That's all? There must have been thousands in that swarm!"

"It's only a guess. I don't know how long they've been established here. Your loser friends can get the rest of them. We're leaving."

She looked at him with a critical eye. "Are you sure you've got the strength to fly? You looked pretty wiped out."

"I am," he admitted. For a moment, he examined her as he considered his earlier thoughts in the shelter. She had come close to dying twice today and both times he had saved her without sparing some much as a passing thought about his own welfare. His time with this woman was changing him. He didn't know how it was even possible but he couldn't deny its effect. He was not the same person who had tried to destroy the Earth. Today, he had actually defended it. It was a puzzling revelation.

"Vegeta?" Bulma examined his face as best she could in the poor light. He was staring at her so strangely... "Are you sure you're alright?"

He shook his head and shelved the thoughts away for another time. Taking her in his arms, he assured her, "I'll be fine. I just want to get as much distance away from this freezing hell hole as I can manage," he said and took to the air.

* * *

Chapter 10: What's a honeymoon without a tropical diversion? A Rainforest paradise awaits...


	11. Tropical Paradise

A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON © 2006 Darke Angelus

Chapter 10: Tropical Paradise

* * *

Despite his weakened state, Vegeta got them as far as the Amazon Basin in South America. Bulma had been to a great many exotic locations in her relatively short life (some of those places hadn't even been on Earth) but she was unprepared for the vivid spectacle of an unspoiled Rainforest in its entire emerald splendor. All around them they were enveloped by varying shades of green; from soft, spongy fungi at their feet to the towering trees of the canopy overhead. It was a location of such diversity and lushness that Bulma was momentarily cowed into silence as she heard haunting calls from creatures she couldn't put names to, and the melodic songs of brightly plumed birds. "It-it's beautiful," she said in a hushed, reverent voice.

Vegeta regarded the surroundings with half-lidded eyes before his legs finally gave out from underneath of him and he sank to the ground. When Bulma immediately started fussing over him, he pushed her away. "I just need to get some sleep. Go do... _some_thing," he gave an irritated wave in the direction of the surrounding jungle and then laid his head down on a pile of leaves. Within seconds, he was asleep.

"Always the tough guy," Bulma sighed and decided to heed his advice. The area was an incredible tangle of ferns and mosses blanketing every conceivable surface and she had to crane her head back at immense trunks of the rainforest trees to try and get an impression of what time of day it was. Nothing electronic had survived their Antarctic adventure and her GPS watch had stopped at a time of 11:35 pm. If she got the angle of the sun right, it was barely midmorning. That heartened her a bit, knowing that she had plenty of daylight left to revel in this exciting wilderness without the threat of darkness hovering in the background.

There was great commotion in the canopy hundreds of feet above the forest floor and Bulma didn't know how it was possible for the Saiyan to sleep through the ruckus. Over the cries of birds and monkeys and insects, she thought that she could detect the sound of running water. Following the source, she discovered a tranquil grotto, walled in craggy stone, with a waterfall spilling into a serene basin. There were large rocks surrounding the water, the sort that would be perfect for sunbathing. "Fantastic!" she said with satisfaction and began removing the many layers of clothing she had put on as a defense against the frigid temperatures of the South Pole. They weren't necessary here, not by any stretch of the imagination, and when she was done, all she had on were a pair of panties and a halter-top.

She stepped carefully into the water, mindful of the rocky footing and sighed with satisfaction as the wetness coated her body. It was neither cold nor hot, but nicely temperate. _This is just perfect_, she thought, sinking down into the water and swimming across the small pool until she reached the rocks and hauled herself up. She climbed a short distance until she found a long flat shelf that she thought would be perfect for sunning and spread out upon it. It was warm and slightly concave and an exactfit for her body. She was astonished to discover that she was also exhausted from all of the action of the past couple of hours and her eyelids drooped with heaviness. Sparing a brief glance in the direction where Vegeta was sleeping, she figured that they were safe here and she succumbed to the darkness pulling at her limbs, dozing under the warm sunlight in the middle of an exotic rainforest.

It wasn't a restful sleep by any means. As the sun moved along its course in the sky, her resting spot became an area of deep shade and her unconscious body tried to move itself to follow that reassuring light. She had always been a restless sleeper, known for tearing up the blankets and sheets as she tossed and turned around in the bed. Her flailing legs had nailed Vegeta in the groin or kidneys more times than he liked to count. It had been one of the primary reasons that they had unanimously agreed upon a King-sized bed; to put some distance between them so that he could sleep and she could flail around without injuring anyone. Right now, as she slept, she thought that she was back home in that huge bed and rolled over –

- and promptly fell off of her narrow perch and down into the pool ten feet below.

"AGH! Damn it!" She was sputtering when she surfaced, clawing the wet hair away from her face and casting an accusing glare up at the ledge. How she hadn't managed to bean herself on one of those jagged outcrops of rock was a miracle!

"What a sight to wake up to," a deep voice commented a short distance away.

She turned and saw Vegeta leaning against a small tree, watching her with that characteristic smirk on his face. He had stripped down to a single pair of jogging pants and, while she continued to watch, he pulled them down and stepped out of them and joined her in the water, completely nude.

"I fell off of that ledge over there," she muttered, distracted by the sight of him swimming in a lazy circle around her. His gaze was intense and mysterious; it was like watching a predator sizing up its prey before preparing an attack. Despite the warm water, she felt gooseflesh break out all over her body. "One hell of a way to wake up."

"I'm sure."

"How did you sleep?"

"Fine," he commented, continuing to keep a steady eye on her as he easily swam past and around her, never coming too close.

She tracked his progress with a wary eye. "You're acting weird, Vegeta," she said in a suspicious tone.

"Am I?"

"Yes. You're freaking me out."

"Uhm, let's see what else I can do to you," he commented and dove under the water, barely creating a ripple. Bare seconds later, she felt a tickle on her ankle. Looking down she saw the Saiyan leisurely lying on the bottom of the pool, eyeing her from between her legs and, incredibly, still smiling. This kind of playful teasing was rare behavior and Bulma decided to indulge him. She dropped her hands below the surface and slowly slid her panties down over her hips, easily sliding her legs out of fabric. With that done, she closed her eyes, spread her legs and waited. A hand ran up her inner thigh and gently cupped her throbbing sex, and teeth began lightly nipping her left buttock. One finger slid into her easily while another flicked at her nerve-filled center, making her arch her back and moan in pleasure.

That delightful friction, playful at first, became more determined and Bulma began tugging on the fabric of her halter top with anxious fingers. "Just like that... there," she was whispering, her eyes still squeezed tightly closed in growing pleasure. "Right ..._there_, yesss. Oh god! _Yes!"_ She was close to a climax and her legs were shaking with desire. Beneath the water, feather-soft kisses trailed over her buttocks and lower back while fingers skillfully rubbed, and probed, and tickled. She felt her inner walls clench down on the intrusive digit inside of her and she gave voice to a throaty cry that momentarily silenced the cacophonous jungle. Her back spasmed and she lost her footing and fell backwards into the water, all coordination gone.

Vegeta surfaced and shook the heavy tangles of hair away from his face and watched her as she tried to shake off the effects of her climax. She stood up, sputtering and disheveled, her face flushed and her nipples painfully erect beneath the nearly transparent halter-top. "Oh... That was-was-"

"Fun," he finished for her, wearing a smug grin.

"I thought you didn't 'do' fun," she said, getting her breathing under control and eyeing him shrewdly.

"I didn't do a lot of things before I met you."

"Oh?" She cocked her head to the side as he moved closer to her, watching the rivulets of water that ran down his neck, pooling in the hollow of his collarbone before spilling down over his perfectly sculpted chest. "Like what?"

He stared at her closely and then dropped his eyes to her breasts, reaching beneath the clingy fabric to caress one full mound and teasing the pert nipple with a daring finger. He leaned his head forward slightly and licked her left ear, then ran his tongue down her jaw line and then to her mouth. His lips smothered hers as he plunged his tongue deeply inside, trying to taste every part of her luscious mouth. He opened his eyes in mid-kiss, only to find hers staring right up at his, burning in her passion. He broke away, breathless, saying, "Like _this_. I never liked it, before. It was too intimate. But with you... I can't get enough of how you taste, or smell, or-or-" he genuinely became lost for words, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"Vegeta," she said wonderingly, searching his face for some sign that they were just words he had just made up on the spot to ensure their approaching intimacy, but he was blushing and that was how she knew it was the truth. "I love you so much!" She reached up with both arms and pulled his head down to hers, renewing the seal of their lips that had been broken only seconds before. Vegeta relished in the contact. He simply could not get enough of her hot mouth, the way her tongue jousted with his own, the sweet sensual way that she tasted. They kissed wildly, passionately, feeding on mutual lust and radiating desire as their hands roamed all over each other's hot, wet skin and eventually down to the juncture of each other's thighs.

She found him erect and began to caress and fondle the thick shaft until she saw that telltale muscle jump in the corner of his jaw. It meant that he was holding himself back with all of his self-control and she didn't want him to waste that precious seed in the water. With a skillful hand, she guided him past her soft folds and into the clasping warmth of her sex, wrapping her legs around his, her ankles digging into his calves as she squirmed and gyrated against him to get the maximum penetration. For as long as a minute, they stood locked in that hot embrace, their mouths straining, their tongues slashing, their hands roaming as the emotions boiled over.

Finally, Vegeta waded out of the pool and found a spot of ground nearby that was covered with wide jade-colored fronds over a natural bed of soft moss. Their lovemaking began with a slow and measured rocking back and forth but began to quickly intensify. The fleshy padding of her buttocks cushioned his forceful thrusts, her writhing hips the only thing between him and the earth. As he pounded away at her, he walked his lips up her cheek and found her mouth, panting in her exertions. Their kisses were fevered, touches were roughly tender, the two melded into one, each feeling, giving and receiving pleasure. She fisted her fingers in his thick hair and took as much from his mouth as he took from hers, urging him on with breathless whimpers; _Come, come, come..._

Shortly after, they were back in the water again, washing off a combination of sweat and dirt from their efforts on the jungle floor. There was still a sign of that mischievous streak to the Saiyan as they swam around in aimless circles, occasionally splashing one another. Bulma climbed up to her earlier perch and executed a perfect swan dive. Not to be outdone, he launched himself from the rock and executed two swift flips before hitting the water. After that it became a diving competition between the pair.

"Why do you even bother trying?" he called up to her as she got into position on the sturdy ledge. "You know you can't compete against me in anything athletic."

"At least I can try and give you a run for your money," she shouted back.

"It's not a run, it's a waddle," he laughed.

"You ass!" She launched herself from the ledge and tried to imitate one of his flips. She had nowhere near his flexibility or skill and ended up doing a loud belly flop on the water, sinking like a rock.

Even Vegeta had to wince. "That _had_ to hurt," he muttered under his breath. When she didn't surface right away, his brow furrowed in concern and he swam over to the spot where she fell. "Woman? Bulma!" He looked quickly around and started to feel a familiar sensation of panic until hands closed around his ankles and pulled him under.

He got away from that loose grip and fought to get back to the surface, sputtering and cursing. "What the hell did you do that for?" he yelled over to where Bulma had surfaced, laughing. "It isn't funny!"

"The look on your face-" she broke off into peels of laughter.

"Not funny at all," he growled and immediately began to swim to the far side where their clothes lied in an untidy pile.

She intercepted him just as he was stepping out of the water. "I was just joking around, Vegeta. No harm done. Alright?"

"How was I to know you weren't hurt?"

She considered the anger on his face and looked back to where they had been diving. "You... thought that little fall hurt me? You were worried?"

"It's another thing I didn't do until I met you," he grumbled peevishly, crossing his arms.

"What, worry? About what?" Her eyes were searching his face again. "About me?"

"You, the brat, us; it's all I ever do anymore," the crimson flush of embarrassment was rising along his jaw line and entering his face again. "I never had to worry about anything before, except saving my own ass."

"Would you want to go back to that?"

"I-" The question caught him off guard. "No," he admitted.

She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder. "This is all new to me too, you know. I was used to just traipsing around the planet without a care in the world. Now I'm a mother, a wife, and president of a company. It can all get a little overwhelming."

"That's putting it mildly."

"But we'll get through this together. That's what being married is all about. We're not alone anymore. We're a team."

He pulled away from her a little. "I'm not exactly a team player."

"Our team has exclusive membership. It can only have two members," she tipped him a playful wink.

He had to smile despite himself. She had such a way of making him see things in a unique perspective and calming him. When she pulled his face back to meet her lips in a deep tongue-searching kiss, he didn't resist her. He couldn't. When they parted his words gusted softly against her face, "Bulma, you make me feel..."

"What, Vegeta?" She softly pressed her full lips to his brow, kissing him gently, before moving down. Following the shape of his eyes, the curve of his cheek, the outline of his jaw, and the angle of his chin with her lips. She ran the tip of her tongue across his lower lip, tracing the smooth contours before slowly sliding her tongue between them again. "How do I make you feel?" she whispered into his mouth.

"Like-like-" His eyes opened a bare crack and suddenly widened in alarm. "_SHIT!"_

Bulma whirled around and released a screech that would have rivaled an adult Void Worm. Part of it was shock, but the other was pure unadulterated rage that they been spied on this entire time and no one had bothered to speak up and make their presence known earlier. _"What the hell are all of you doing here!"_ she screamed.

Yamcha swallowed with difficulty and backed up into Tien, Chiaotzu, and Piccolo, who were bringing up the rear. All four wore identical expressions of shock and mortification as they tried to look everywhere else except at the obviously naked and very angry heiress standing right in front of them. Even the huge Namek wore a deeper emerald hue than normal when he managed to find his voice; "We sensed an immense ki from Vegeta. We thought that he might be in trouble."

"Bullshit," Vegeta snarled from the heavy brush and emerged wearing a pair of sweatpants. Bulma gaped at him and actually glanced behind her before registering that she was left all alone in the nude. She dashed forward to grab and armload of clothes and streaked off into a dense cover of ferns. "You thought _she _was the one in trouble."

Tien shrugged. "It isn't as if we wouldn't have a reason to be concerned."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean!" Vegeta shouted, lunging forward.

"That's enough," Piccolo said, deliberately stepping between the two rivals before things became messy. Of all of them, he knew that he was probably the only person besides Gohan who the Saiyan didn't hate on sight, and he hoped to use it to his advantage and get quickly to the matter at hand. "All of us sensed you power up to a level you haven't used since battling Cell. We had to investigate. You would have done the same."

Vegeta backed off a little at the blunt logic.

"What happened?"

"I don't answer to you, Namek," he sneered. "So get out of my face before I Galactic Gun your green ass all over this fucking rainforest."

Scowling, the huge alien reluctantly rejoined the others. He had hoped to find the mercurial Saiyan reasonable, figuring that this enigmatic human ritual called marriage would have tempered him a little. As usual, where matters involving Vegeta were concerned, it ended in disaster. They would find no explanation from that cold, resentful person glaring back at them. That began a four-against-one staring contest that was over even before it began as the Saiyan suddenly turned to look in the direction where his bride was getting dressed, "Bulma."

The rustling ferns momentarily stopped moving. "What?"

"Your loser friends want an explanation as to what happened in the south. Will you tell them."

"Sure."

"I'll leave you to it," he said and took to the air without so much as a backwards glance, leaving her and the well-intentioned fighters all on their own. Tien glanced in the direction that the Saiyan had gone, to the bushes where Bulma was hiding, and back up to the overhanging canopy again. He had witnessed the brusque Saiyan actually make a request from Bulma instead of demand one. It was subtle, a thing that a person who didn't know the alien wouldn't easily pick up but Tien noticed it right away. Judging by the surprised looks on the others faces; they had noticed it, too.

At long, long last, the constant anxiety between Tien's shoulders began to finally ease. Vegeta was different. In a _good_ way. The marriage between the two, as shocked and as skeptical as he had first been when he had read about during the Himalayan blizzard, actually appeared to be a beneficial union between the two. Bulma's trademark bitchiness actually appeared to be waning and Vegeta's instability seemed to be under firm control. As long as they were together, the Z Fighters could relax.

_At least until the pair had a fight. Or went through a divorce..._

The tension between Tien's shoulders came back, worse than ever.

When Bulma was finally dressed, she wasted no time telling them about what had happened in Antarctica and she didn't give them a Reader's Digest condensed version of their adventure, either. She made it a point to explain in detail how Vegeta had saved her life, not once but twice, and how he had dealt with the Void Worms. She knew that Piccolo was in her camp, and Yamcha was coming around to the belief that sometimes, in very rare cases, a leopard could actually change its spots. Chiaotzu didn't appear to hold grudges, he generally went along with whatever his partner felt. Tien, however, wasn't swayed by anything personal that Bulma felt compelled to share. He would always envy the Saiyan's power and fighting ability (among other things) and he would always hate him personally. There would be no swaying him from that opinion. _Ever._

"We'll go there immediately," Piccolo said, when she was through explaining the situation.

Hey!" Yamcha quickly interrupted. "I'd like to have more on my back than a t-shirt and jeans if we're going to Antarctica!"

"I'll go on ahead. You three can follow my ki when you're packed and ready," he amended. He passed Bulma a grateful nod and flew off, his white cape flailing like a banner against the canopy before he disappeared from sight.

"C'mon Chiaotzu, looks like we're going back to blizzard country. Let's go retrieve our gear," Tien sighed, and took off in the opposite direction that the Namek had gone.

"Buh-but we only just took it off!" the little man objected as he trailed along behind his friend.

Soon, only Bulma and Yamcha were left alone in the forest. There was an awkward silence between them and the fighter took advantage of the moment to examine his ex-lover as closely as he dared. It looked as though Bulma had lost a little weight during her hectic honeymoon, and gained some distinct muscle tone in the bargain. Her complexion, always flawless, actually appeared to glow with purpose and vitality. Her hair, like her eyes, radiated a steady shine that was indicative of health and vigor. Even her breasts appeared to be firmer, perkier than before. It was as if she had stepped into a time portal and emerged a few years younger. "You-you look..." _simply amazing,_ he wanted to say. _The most beautiful woman I've ever seen._ "... great," he said instead.

That broke the spell. "Oh, I'm a wreck," she said with a laugh, brushing a hand through her mussed hair. "We lost nearly everything we owned in Antarctica. Vegeta lost all of his clothes, I don't have any make-up, and I'd kill for a hairdryer right now. It's hard to put this Honeymoon into words, Yamcha."

"But it was fun, wasn't it?"

She said without hesitation: "I'd do it all again in a second." Her smile was back, more dazzling than before.

Entranced, Yamcha started to walk towards her and was interrupted by a loud crunch. Looking to his left he saw that Vegeta had returned. He was leaning against the trunk of tree and eating a piece of fruit. His manner appeared casual but his eyes ticked from him, to Bulma, and back again, flashing a clear warning. Yamcha understood that caution radiating from those cold, raven depths and went no closer. "I'm uh, glad that you guys are, y'know, okay and all."

"Thank you, Yamcha," Bulma said cheerily.

"Uhm," Vegeta grunted, and went back to eating.

"Er, ahem, Vegeta, there's... ah, something you might want to know about- about Dorothy Per-"

He jumped back as a ki bolt made a foot-deep crater less than an inch from his feet. Vegeta had his hand out and the first two fingers were glowing. "If you say that bitch's name again, I'll burn off your tongue."

"We're on our honeymoon, Yamcha! Why are you bring _her_ up at a time like this!" Bulma yelled at him in frustration. "I thought you were smarter than that!"

This wasn't the place to ask the question that had nagged away at Yamcha ever since he had seen the photo tucked away in the night table of Dorothy Pereaux's bedroom. That little three-year old girl... those black eyes...

... that dramatic widow's peak.

Veronica Pereaux, the actress's daughter. Yamcha had asked who her father was and had gotten an offhanded remark of; "It was a one night stand. I didn't bother to catch his name." Not a very satisfying answer and it was all that he could get out of the woman until they had broken up two days later. After that, she had changed her number and blocked any attempts for him to reach her, not that he tried very hard. The tabloids, and critics, and the few people who could still stand to work with her had been right all along: She was a bitch.

But she was also a mother, and that little tidbit gnawed away at Yamcha. As much as he wanted to bring the subject up here and now, he had to wonder; _What would be the point?_ All that it would accomplish would be to generate anger, disbelief, and eventually curiosity. He knew Bulma well enough to know that she wouldn't let things simply lie still; she had to poke it with a stick. And Dorothy Pereaux was not a woman who took such things lying down. It would create a firestorm that would span the papers and electronic media until there would be only one outcome: The relationship between Vegeta and Bulma would fracture, and the Earth would lose the only leash on a homicidal force that was capable of keeping that rage in check.

Maybe he wasn't giving them enough credit. It was possible that they could work through something this scandalous, if it was as Yamcha suspected. _Hell, people did it every d_ay. But he didn't want to be the person responsible for putting those forces into motion. He had already done enough damage to the pair with his meddling in the past. Dorothy's story was believable and she was content to live a reclusive life exclusively for the very rich, shielding her daughter from the media. It could be years before the questions would roll around, questioning the girl's paternity. If ever at all. Yamcha resolved that it was not going to be him that would start that ball rolling.

"Yamcha!" Bulma snapped at him as continued with his internal debate. He didn't want to see her hurt, now or ever, but he knew that he had to back away as much as that decision bothered him. She was in love with Vegeta now, and their time as lovers was over. He had to ensure that they at least remained good friends.

"Whoops! Sorry about that," he ended up saying, scratching at the back of his head and smiling. It was a habit that he had picked up from his days hanging around with Gokou and, at the sight, Bulma immediately relented. "I just don't know what I was thinking-"

The familiar gesture had the opposite effect on Vegeta who didn't need any reminder of his deceased archrival. He threw the half-eaten fruit away and marched over to the younger fighter, poking him directly on the chest. "All three of us know that you don't have the capacity to think. She's told you the situation. Why don't you leave and go do your usual half-assed rendition of trying to save the planet?"

"What're you trying to say?"

"Yamcha..." Bulma cautioned.

_"Fuck off!"_ Vegeta snarled. "Is that clear enough for you!"

"Wow, Vegeta. Being a married man has really mellowed you-" he leapt backward in an agile flip as the Saiyan suddenly swung at him. "I'm just kidding!" he teased as he took to the air. "I'll see you guys later. Enjoy the rest of your honeymoon!"

"We will!" Bulma said, waving enthusiastically.

"Make sure you rub some if that worm spit on your skin!" Vegeta hollered after him. "It'll protect you from the cold-"

Bulma grabbed onto his arm and shook it. "Vegeta!"

"What? It'd serve the smart-ass right!"

"I swear the two of you are going to drive me insane," she fretted as she collected the scattered remains of their clothing from around the brush. "You should know by now that you've got nothing to be jealous about where he's concerned."

"I'm not jealous. I just hate him. I hate all of them. It's as simple as that."

He said those words in a casual enough tone of voice, but when he met her probing stare, his eyes had shadowed over. In that moment, Bulma knew that the playful, exuberant character she had shared the pool with earlier was gone. It was the presence of the Z Fighters that had done it and, not for the first time, she silently cursed their poor timing. He immediately adopted the callous soldier visage whenever he felt remotely threatened and he was wearing it now like a suit of armor. Her eyes softened at the sight. _Their honeymoon was over in more ways than one..._

"Well, we don't have any other clothes and we lost all of our money and identifications. Do you want to cut the honeymoon short and summon Shenron? We only had two days left anyway."

He nodded once. "Sounds like a plan."

"Do you want to do it here?"

"No. We have to go to Dende's Lookout. The sprout is the only one who can speak the summoning words."

She could have kicked herself. "That's right! These are different than the Dragonballs I used to chase after when I was a kid. Back then, anyone who found all seven could make a wish. Dende created these after Piccolo absorbed Kami. Shenron is now a Namek Dragon-"

"You do realize that you're not telling me anything that I don't already know. I was there, remember?" he reminded her, his eyelids half-closed in boredom.

"So was I," she said, sticking her tongue out at him. Such displays of immaturity always broke up a fight because he always did exactly what he was doing now; Rolling his eyes at her and shaking his head. "I also remember how you were showing off in front of me when you battled Zarbon."

He whirled on her, astonished. "I was _NOT_ showing off!"

"-and how you later told Gohan that you thought I was gorgeous."

His eyes bulged and a dramatic flush rose from his collarbones and all the way up into his hairline. He opened his mouth, sputtered on a word, and snapped it closed again. Bulma danced in and kissed one crimson cheek and flounced off again, singing over and over; _"You said I was gorgeous, You said I was-"_

_"!ENOUGH!"_ he thundered. From a nearby tree, a flock of brilliant blue parrots took to the wing and flew off, squawking in agitation.

"Not until you admit it!" she shot back. "Were you showing off or weren't you?"

His lips were a bloodless straight line as he grappled with his anger. Hesitating, he took the time to evaluate that past battle in his mind. Yes, there it was as plain as day: Covert glances in her direction, the odd sly innuendo. Had he really thought she hadn't noticed? He offered her a distracted shrug and said aloofly, "Perhaps I _was_ prolonging the battle a bit-"

She raised a triumphant fist to the air. "I knew it!"

"Only because I didn't want to finish the prick so soon. I wanted him to suffer."

"Yeah, right. I saw how you were looking at me and leering. You were showing off and having the time of your life."

"Did you like it?"

The question was completely unexpected. "Did I..."

"It's a simple question," he said, walking purposely towards her. She had been getting far too much enjoyment at his expense and now it was time to turn the tables. "I beat a man to death directly in front of you. Did you like what you saw?"

"Well, I-I didn't _like_ it, but Zarbon was evil-"

"If I recall correctly, you were initially cheering _him_ on to kill _me_. Or have you conveniently forgotten _that_ little tidbit?" It was gratifying to finally see some hint of a blush reach her fair cheeks instead of the other way around. "You had the hots for that green pretty-boy, am I right? At least until he revealed his true form. You weren't so horny for him after that little revelation, were you?"

Unable to meet his gaze, she shook her head. Her face glowed with shame; she had been so immature back then, selfish and demanding. Yamcha had been barely dead in the ground for a month and there she had been; panting over a tall, exotic-looking man like some high school teenager on a first crush.

"So why him? Why didn't you cheer me on instead?"

"Why-? Because you-you nearly destroyed the Earth. I-I hated you!"

He didn't appear put-off by the honesty. He actually respected it. "If you had known all of the things that Zarbon had done to other planets over the decades, you would have hated him more. That was why I drew out the battle for as long as I did. To show you the real monster that he was."

"If you hadn't been there, he would have killed us," she realized in a hushed whisper.

"There was no guarantee that I wasn't going to either."

"But you didn't," she said in a stronger voice. "You took the Dragonball without harming me or Krillin. We were reminders of your first defeat on Earth. You certainly had reason to kill us, but you didn't. Now why is that, Vegeta?"

Their faces were bare inches apart. Her brilliant blue eyes drilled directly into his coal black ones and, of the two, he finally blinked first. "When I found out later that the brats had tricked me I came back to where you were and leveled that place, and it wouldn't have mattered one bit to me if you had been there or not. But during that battle with Zarbon, I saw you and-and-" he shook his head and looked away, trying desperately to come up with an answer that would satisfy her. "I don't know what I was thinking. Perhaps I was disoriented from an earlier battle, or felt rushed because Frieza was on his way, maybe I was just tired-"

"You're making excuses."

He took a deep breath and crossed his arms. "I just know that I didn't want to kill you, that's all. I can't explain it."

Bulma was smiling. "You don't have to explain anything. I understand."

His eyes sharpened in her face again. "It isn't what you think."

"It isn't? I know what was on your mind; _You thought I was gorgeous. You thought I was-"_ she danced away from him, laughing and singing her maddening, simple little song while he gripped his hands into fists so tight, his fingernails made bloody crescents in his palms.

"When we get back to the Capital, Gohan and I are going to have words," he snarled under his breath before following after his chanting bride.

* * *

Early in the evening, the pair made their way to Dende's Lookout where the Earth's caretaker and his manservant, Mr. Popo, awaited them.

"Piccolo told us that you might be coming soon. Welcome, welcome," the chubby black man greeted them when they landed near the palace. His manner was so accepting and benevolent that it was hard to believe that he didn't hold a grudge for the near destruction of the Lookout a year ago. It was the time when Vegeta had succumbed to amnesia as a result of Frieza's poison. He had reverted back to the days of his savage youth and had shot the Lookout to pieces just for the sheer hell of it.

Looking around now, it was as if that damage had never been inflicted. The immaculate white marble was unmarred by cracks or chips, and the palace looked as if it had been freshly rebuilt. The massive pillars and stone stairs were highly polished. The huge front bay windows reflected the rays of the setting sun in brilliant orange and gold flashes of light. Shrubs and potted trees lightly swayed in the gentle breeze.

"I like what you've done with the place," Vegeta remarked dryly and smirked when Bulma lightly slapped his shoulder.

"How was your honeymoon?" Dende asked. He was smiling easily enough but his eyes ticked back and forth between the couple, lingering longest on the Saiyan. As sweet natured as he was, the young Namek could never completely forget the carnage that Vegeta had wrought on his home planet, now dust on the solar winds. A good many of his pod-brothers and sisters had died terrible deaths at the hands of the alien standing on the dais before him. "Was it uneventful?"

"Oh, good heaven's- NO!" Bulma laughed out loud and proceeded to tell the small alien about how bad luck had certainly tailed them on this journey, starting with the traffic jam on the very day of their marriage.

"Woman!" Vegeta barked, "You can tell him about it all later. Right now, I just want to tell Shenron my two wishes. That was the purpose of this two-week ordeal, remember?"

"I don't remember you calling it an ordeal this afternoon," she purred, batting her long eyelashes at him. "Or just before we left, either," she reached up to his hair and pulled out a leaf that was stuck in the heavy mane.

"Don't say one more word," he hissed, snatching it out of her hand and stuffing it into his back pocket.

"Spoilsport."

A roll of the eyes and a headshake later, Vegeta popped the capsule containing the seven Dragonballs and stepped back to allow Dende to examine them. "These have been to many exotic locations," the little alien said in soft voice, gently caressing each magical orb. "You two have had quite an adventure together, it appears."

"You can get all that from just fondling the balls?" Bulma asked straight-faced, and flashed Vegeta a dirty look when he began snickering.

Dende innocently nodded. "It is good to see all of you again," he whispered to them. One by one, he carefully carried them out to the middle of the wide Lookout platform until he had all seven carefully arranged in order. Then he began the summoning ritual to invoke the Dragon spirit housed inside the balls. A few softly spoken words, a dramatic raise of the arms; and the darkening night sky suddenly became pitch black as the powers of the Dragonball ignited, and Shenron sprang forth from their glow.

The enormous Dragon spirit rose into the sky and took the half-snake, half-humanoid form that was indicative of its Namek parentage. It crossed its immense arms and peered down at all of them standing on the Lookout, demanding in a booming voice: _"STATE YOUR TWO WISHES SO THAT I CAN RETURN TO MY SLUMBER."_

"Showtime," Bulma said and gave Vegeta forceful shove from behind. "This is what you've been waiting for, isn't it? Get moving!"

Vegeta wasn't sure if it was the Dragon's undulating body reminding him of the Void Worms, or the fact that Shenron bore a vague resemblance to Zarbon's reptilian form, but either way, he had to actively force himself to join Dende's side. Bulma was watching him and he certainly didn't want to screw up in front of her.

"Shenron!" he shouted in a firm, authoritative voice. "I am Vegeta, Prince of the Saiyans, and I want you to grant my first wish."

_"TELL ME YOUR FIRST WISH, PRINCE OF SAIYANS."_

"My wish is for Ivory City and its citizens to be returned back to the condition it was in before I destroyed it."

Shenron's body glowed brighter and he released a steady, reverberating growl that was almost like a deep purr before he announced: _"IT IS DONE. WHAT IS YOUR SECOND WISH?"_

Vegeta opened his mouth and closed it again without saying a word. He suddenly appeared to fall into deep thought, staring intently down at the highly polished marble floor.

"Vegeta?" Dende asked in a hesitant voice. "Shenron is waiting."

"I know, sprout. Just give me a minute," the Saiyan said absently, trying to make a final decision with all of the ideas he had stored up in his mind in preparation for this very moment. At one point, he had wanted his tail back. Another time, he wondered if he shouldn't wish Nappa back, if only to dispatch the old bodyguard in a face-to-face battle instead of how he had ended their partnership. Using it to off the Pereaux bitch would just be a waste. His desire for immortality was always there, but he doubted that Bulma would go along with the idea, even if Shenron could give a two-for-one sale with the last wish. And even that still left Trunks out of the loop, didn't it?

_"MY IMPATIENCE GROWS, PRINCE OF SAIYANS. STATE YOUR LAST WISH."_

"Vegeta!" Dende urged.

He deliberately ignored the other alien. His mind was a maelstrom of whirling thoughts, desires, and dreams. _Could Shenron bring back the Saiyans? Could he restore their home world_? Damn it! There was so little he knew about Shenron's limitations! He continued trying to rationalize his internal conflict while above them all, Shenron began to thrash about with growing displeasure.

"Er, Bulma," Mr. Popo whispered over to Bulma from where they were standing near the palace, watching the display. "What is wrong with Vegeta?"

"I'm not sure," she mused, watching him carefully. "I don't think he knows what to ask for from Shenron. He doesn't really have much of an imagination."

"I'm sure that wouldn't be a problem for you," the small man chuckled.

"No, I had a wish already picked out."

"And what was that?"

She looked up into the sky with a dreamy expression on her face and sighed, "I would wish for..."

_"YOUR WISH HAS BEEN GRANTED."_

"Huh?" Vegeta snapped his head up to look at Shenron in shock. "What did you say? I didn't make my second wish yet!"

_"FAREWELL."_

"!HEY!" He recoiled as the light flashed and Shenron disappeared. In the center of his being, the seven Dragonballs lingered in the air for several seconds before arcing off like comets across the sky, heading off to new exotic destinations. The pitch-black sky returned to its deepening azure, with the first of the early evening stars beginning to peer through.

Vegeta rounded on Dende and shouted in his face, "What the hell was that all about? I didn't get my second wish!"

The little Namek quickly backpedaled away from the furious Saiyan. "I-I'm sorry, Vegeta, but Shenron wouldn't have left unless someone had made one while he was here."

"Well, it sure wasn't me and it wasn't you, so who-" he looked around and glared over at the pair standing in front of the palace. Mr. Popo's face was dark and unreadable, the perfect poker face, but Bulma had her hand pressed to her lips and her eyes were as wide as saucers.

"What. Did. You. Do?" Vegeta ground out from between clenched teeth.

"... oh crap..." Bulma squeaked out.

* * *

Epilogue: The honeymoon comes to an end and Bulma's wish is revealed ... 


	12. Epilogue

A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON © 2006 Darke Angelus

Epilogue

* * *

"So, uh, Bulma," Krillin attempted again after getting nothing more than an hour of tense silence from the livid Heiress. "Up until the point that Vegeta stranded you on the Lookout, you were having a good honeymoon?"

Bulma had her lower lips stuck out in a pout and she pulled out of her foul mood long enough to mumble; "It was an adventure, that's for sure."

"I read about some of it in the tabloids. That little stunt you guys pulled at the Museum exhibit in London had me in serious hot water with 18."

"What?" her eyes sharpened on his face. "Why?"

"She read about the size of the diamond that Vegeta gave you and freaked out. I couldn't go back home until I brought back something larger than one carat."

"And did you?"

The little monk's face screwed up in anguish. "Yeah, but I'm now in hock up to my eyeballs, which at my height isn't saying much. 18 doesn't seem to understand that I can't compete with Vegeta. He's a Prince, for crying out loud, and he's loaded-"

"He can also be a major jerk, Krillin. That's something you're not. Wealth and status don't mean a damned thing if you haven't got the personality to back it all up. You're a super sweet guy. 18 is a very lucky lady, er... person to have you."

Encountering an air current that was a warm, pleasing temperature, Krillin slowed his course back to the Western Capital and regarded her seriously. "You're not having second thoughts about marrying Vegeta, are you?"

Her blue eyes widened in disbelief. "Of course not! What gave you an idea like that?"

"Well, when you called me, you were pretty upset," he said, seriously downplaying the incident. After reacting to Bulma's slip of the tongue, Vegeta had blasted away for a direct course home, deliberately leaving her behind. At first she was a little grateful for the time-out until it dawned on her that she didn't have any travel capsules. Piccolo and the others were in Antarctica, Mr. Popo couldn't fly, and Dende wasn't able to leave the Lookout. It was well beyond Gohan's bedtime, and she sure as heck wasn't going to have Chi Chi or her parents come and get her, so that left only one person.

In truth, Krillin was grateful to have the excuse to leave Master Roshi's island. Android 18 was beginning to get carried away with the idea of an approaching wedding and the monk was beginning to wonder if the concept wasn't frying her circuits. She wanted to rent a huge cathedral for the nuptials to take place, stating proudly that it could seat almost a thousand guests. When Krillin explained that, between the two of them, the most that they would have on the invitation list was maybe twenty people, she flipped out. And when he worked up the nerve to tell her that most of them probably wouldn't even be able to afford a wedding present, she _seriously_ flipped out.

"Why are all of your friends so poor!" she started screaming. Sitting in the corner quietly watching television, the turtle pulled his head and flippers into his shell and tried to appear invisible.

"Whuh- well, Bulma isn't-"

"One person. One! How on Earth are we going to be able to furnish our dream house with one decent present? You tell me that!"

Krillin wasn't able to tell her anything. His shell-shocked mind began whirling around the words; "Dream house", and he was pretty sure that she wasn't talking about the old shack of Roshi's they were currently living in.

The argument was still raging on when Bulma's call came through and poor Krillin, initially relieved at the timely intrusion, was suddenly the sole target of another crazed female. "Wha-what's wrong, Bulma-"

_"Vegeta! That's_ _what!"_ the tiny cell phone practically jumped in Krillin's hand and he had to hold it at arms length. _"That miserable, monkey-humping son of bitch-"_

The conversation had just gone downhill from there. So it came as a surprise that she was looking at him now in astonishment when he had asked the question if she might be regretting getting married to the Saiyan. "Seriously, Krillin. I love Vegeta."

"You could have fooled me earlier."

"Oh, I was just blowing off some steam," she dismissed with a wave. "It doesn't mean anything. Couples fight all the time."

"They do?"

"It can't always be hugs and kisses, Krillin. Sometimes you have to let out a little steam or you'd explode. 18 is like that, I think. Vegeta and I just do it more often than most people. We actually got along great on the honeymoon. When we weren't screwing like bunnies, we were off having amazing adventures together!"

Krillin immediately blushed. "Uh, thanks for sharing..."

"That's what a honeymoon is all about, silly!" she started to smile at her friend's obvious distress. She knew that the little man wasn't very knowledgeable about women and she suspected that he was even still a virgin. She liked to tease him at the best of times and this was the perfect opportunity. "For the first two days of it, we barely made it out of bed. We tried all sorts of different positions, and once, I even managed to talk him into-"

"Bulma!" the man's face was nearly purple. "Can we not talk about _THAT_. Please?"

"Oh, poo- You're no fun," she playfully pinched his cheek, giggling. "Fine, then. I'll tell you about what happened in the Bermuda Triangle. How about that?"

"Fine, just keep it G-Rated for me, alright?"

"There wasn't any hanky panky. Vegeta was too tired and he couldn't get it u-"

"Bulma!"

She rolled her eyes. "You are such a prude!" she cried, and proceeded to give him a clean, abridged, kindergarten version of some of their more noteworthy adventures. The storytelling lasted until they reached the Western Capital and by the time Krillin set her down in the courtyard of the Headquarters building, she was calm again. Retelling the events had made her realize that perhaps Vegeta had good reason to be angry with her. All along she had assured him that the wish making was to be his affair and she had stolen the thunder right out from under his nose (even if it had been an accident).

Speaking of thunder...

There were a series of hollow 'booms' that echoed in the night air and Krillin followed Bulma around to the back yard. The Gravity Simulator was rocking on its struts and the crimson portals were flashing as if muted explosions were going on inside of the circular chamber. In a twisted sort of way, Bulma supposed that there were. Vegeta was having a temper tantrum of epic proportions and, at first, she figured that it just might be best if he let off some steam where he couldn't hurt anybody. Then she saw the simulator shudder followed by several rivets popping out of the hull and she realized if she didn't interfere, and soon, he was going to breech the walls of the training device and hurt himself. Again.

Bulma's parents were sitting at the patio, enjoying a cup of lemonade, and just carrying on chatting as if it were just like any other day. Trunks was mutilating his newest stuffed toy nearby and when he caught sight of his mother, he leapt immediately to his feet and raced towards her-

_Thwangg!_ The boy was suddenly knocked off of his feet as the steel cable that Dr. Briefs had attached to his harness became taut. It had originally started out as a harness for his cat, but the old man had redesigned it to stop the boy from his incessant climbing, sprinting and getting into everything that could be potentially damaging to the baby. When Bulma went over to sooth the crying boy, she noticed that it looked as if her parents had aged ten years.

"You're back!" her mother gushed. "Why, when I saw Vegeta return early I just knew that you would be home soon. It's wonderful to have you back. Juh- just _wonderful!"_ Tears began leaking out of the corners of her eyes and, beside her, Dr. Briefs took off his coke-bottle glasses and scrubbed his eyes with a hankie. Bulma wasn't sure if it was relief in having them back, or relief that their babysitting tenure was finally over.

"Momma!" Trunks grabbed hold of her arm and began shaking it (and shaking the rest of her, he was getting so strong!) "I can do hunnert numbers! I Can! Lissen momma! Lissen: Wontoothreefoor-"

_Yeah, probably the latter._

There was another resounding boom, and Bulma turned in time to see the Gravity Simulator wobble in its frame. "Just a moment, sweetie. Your mother has to go do something first."

"NoNo_NOOO_-" the boy's cry became as feral wail as he strained against the steel cable, arms waving for his mother who was running across the yard. The cable was attached to a steel bracket screwed into the side of the Headquarters building. As the little hybrid lunged against the restraint again, Dr. Briefs barely had the time to duck as the bracket, and a good-sized chunk of concrete, went sailing over his head. Now free, Trunks streaked off in pursuit of his mother.

Bulma, meanwhile, had ducked under the rocking training dome and popped open a service hatch. Reaching inside to a depth of her shoulder, she groped around blindly for a moment before she seized something and hauled it out with a yank. In her hand was a bunch of sputtering wires. Two seconds later, the simulator began to power down.

Three seconds after _THAT_, the simulator door slammed open and Vegeta stuck his head out, bellowing: "Woman! What the fuck did you do?"

"Fukfukfukfukfuk" Trunks began parroting happily. Mrs. Briefs tried to cover his mouth and he bit her finger. She started running around the yard, screaming in agony.

Standing a fair distance on the sidelines, Krillin watched the show, his round face expressionless with shock. Bulma and Vegeta were in each other's face yelling things that didn't make any sense. Trunks was trying to get their attention and crying at the top of his lungs. Mrs. Briefs was still screaming like a fire bell. It didn't take long for a police cruiser to show up, its lights flashing and siren wailing. Two policemen approached the warring family members and were trying to tell them to keep it down, neighbors were complaining about the noise. Immediately assuming the role of a united couple, both Vegeta and Bulma told the civil servants exactly where they could go. The cops retreated back to their cruiser threatening to call for back up. In the background of it all, Dr. Briefs sat back down and took his face in his hands. It looked like he was weeping.

"This is nuts," Krillin muttered under his breath and took to the sky, suddenly eager to get back to his peaceful island. _And he had actually been complaining?_ Confronting one harried, bitchy fiancé was certainly better than staying at the insane asylum that was now the Capsule Corporation headquarters building!

Speeding a swift course out over the Pacific Ocean, he resolved that he would never complain about 18 ever again.

* * *

Nobody in the entire Briefs household had gotten more than an hour's sleep that entire night. The cops made good with their threat and called for assistance. They were well aware that Vegeta posed more of a threat than they were prepared to deal with (the fact that he had been a contestant at the Cell Games was public knowledge) and damned if the SWAT Team didn't arrive decked out in full riot gear. All they would have needed to make it complete was the portable camera unit from "COPS". Upon further investigation, Mrs. Briefs' theatrics were revealed to be over something quite serious; Trunks had almost bitten through the bone of her little finger. An ambulance was called and she was rushed off to the hospital with her husband fretting by her side.

Vegeta had a serious hate-on for firearms ever since his Installation 15 ordeal and it took a great deal of coaxing for Bulma to get him into the house before things got really nasty. He reluctantly agreed, dragging his son along behind him by the steel cable like an inexperienced pet owner trying to walk a stubborn dog. Now on her own, Bulma put on the charm. She was able to reason with the infuriated officials, but not before offering to buy any and all of the policeman's ball tickets, promotional calendars, and raffle tickets that they owned. It wasn't quite a bribe but it served its purpose, and by midnight, the last police cruiser had left the compound.

She wasn't alone, though. Not by a long shot.

It had been common knowledge that the pair weren't due to return for two more days, but there were members of the Paparazzi who had decided to camp out in the vacant lot across the street anyway, suspecting that the short-tempered couple just might cut the Honeymoon short. They were rewarded for their patience by the story of the year. For the next hour, Bulma fielded their questions and even did a few short interviews, figuring at this point that the Briefs name could use some positive exposure.

She was starting to lose her voice by the time the media hounds released her and she wearily entered the house. All she wanted to do was get Trunks settled, wrap her arms around her husband, and go to bed. What she found when she entered the living room was almost enough to make her run screaming back out into the courtyard.

The entire living area of the headquarters building was a shambles. There were dents in the walls, the wallpaper was ripped and torn, the ceiling fan was partially ripped out of its fixture and had a serious lean. The bookcases along the far wall were all upset and there were piles of shredded paper and ripped books littering the carpet, which had a number of suspicious stains that Bulma had never seen before. The lamps were all broken and the plasma screen TV was hanging crookedly on the wall, dripping what looked like pudding from one corner.

The furniture looked battered and worn with several gouges in the rich fabric that were oozing puffs of stuffing. The reason was clear when she watched Trunks force himself against the backrest of the loveseat and catapult over to the sofa. Back and forth he went, gradually gaining altitude with each bounce.

"Vegeta, what's he doing?" she asked the Saiyan. His head was ticking back and forth like a spectator at a tennis game as he watched the boy.

"I think he's trying to fly," he answered.

"How-how old were you when you..."

"Four years," he said, locking eyes with her and raising his eyebrows. "For some reason, he's developed the instinct early. Probably because we were separated from him." He looked around the demolished living room in amazement before something else caught his eye and he wandered away.

"You wanted to come and join mommy and daddy on their vacation, did you?" Bulma asked sweetly, catching the boy in one of his leaps and spinning him around until he was releasing shrill giggles of pure glee. "You _DO_ realize that this will all be coming out of your allowance, don't you Trunks?"

"What the hell-?" she heard Vegeta choke out and turned to look over at him.

He was investigating the 55-gallon freshwater aquarium that she had bought for him last year. She had read in her psychiatric journals that fish tanks were supposed to be calming to highly stressed people and had tried it on a lark, not figuring that he would have anything to do with it. Not only had the Saiyan taken to the hobby, he was fast becoming an enthusiast and there were several even larger tanks spread out in key locations around the Headquarters building. He was starting to experiment with salt water and coral reef tanks but this first one was his favorite. "What happen to my fish?" he asked no one in particular. The water was curiously empty.

"Fishys- YUM!" Trunks gurgled.

_"You ate them!"_ Vegeta screamed.

"Uh, I think it's bedtime for you, young man," Bulma said, quickly heading for the stairs.

"I paid over a hundred thousand zeni for that albino Arowana, and that little brat ate it!" he bellowed after the two. "And my two Luohans were a breeding pair. She was getting ready to spawn – _AGH!_ And my platinum Cross back-!"

"You are in sooo much trouble," Bulma muttered while below, in the living room, the Saiyan continued his inconsolable raving.

Trying to get the baby settled was an exercise in frustration. He was too excited about his parents' return and not even a bath and a story was enough to calm him down (_it wouldn't be until the next day, when her mother returned from the hospital, that Bulma found out the boy had eaten a gallon of coffee ice cream after supper_). He finally settled into a twitchy doze at about four in the morning and Bulma walked out of the room on her tiptoes in hopes of not waking him.

Then, from the bedroom: "_DAMN IT! He ate these too!"_

"MOMMAAAH!" Trunks wailed.

"SHIT!" Bulma cried in the hallway, wrapping her hands in her hair and almost pulling it out in frustration. This situation was starting to make their suffering in Antarctica look appealing. She stomped into the bedroom and found Vegeta fretting over his newest acquisitions; only two yellow Tangs were left and one had a bite mark out of its dorsal fin. "That little bastard-"

"I just got him settled and you woke him up!" Bulma yelled at him.

"But-" He started frantically gesturing at his salt-water tank.

"Screw the fish! I'm exhausted and he's hyper and mom's hurt and the house is a wreak and you're mad and-and-" Without warning she burst into tears and flew into him arms, sobbing inconsolably. Down the hall, Trunks' screaming was assuming an almost hysterical pitch.

Vegeta's arms tightened around his bride while he stared at his decimated fish tank in dismay. "Some welcome home _THIS_ was," he grumbled under his breath, all traces of the incident at Dende's Lookout completely forgotten.

* * *

"THE HONEYMOON IS OVER": That was the glaring headline of the Western Capital's main paper, the Clarion, above a photo of the newlyweds facing off against the police. Even taking his poor eyesight into account, Vegeta didn't have to hold that at arms length to read it, not that he wanted to anyway. He wordlessly passed it across the table to his bride and went back to eating his breakfast, privately nursing a throbbing headache.

Bulma had her head propped up on one arm as she ate her cereal and didn't even give it a glance, slapping it facedown on the table. "Can you pass the butter?" she asked, her voice painfully hoarse, and he nudged the container in her direction without comment.

Beside them, Trunks was dozing in his high chair with Cheerios drying on his round cheeks. He was still clutching onto a spoon with a death grip in his right hand, and holding onto his empty bowl with the other. It was the first time that he had been quiet since they had returned and, as if sharing the same thought, both parents looked over and passed the boy a resentful glare.

Mrs. Briefs flounced into the dining room, her left arm in a sling, and picked up the discarded paper. "Oh dear, I don't think that this will go in the scrapbook," she remarked gravely, reading the headline.

Bulma raised her head. "Mother, why didn't you tell me-"

"Us, tell us," Vegeta corrected forcibly.

"-'Us' that Trunks was completely out of control? We would have rushed right back."

The blonde looked at her as if she didn't understand the question. "And interrupt your honeymoon? Not a chance! Trunks was just an adorable little baby! Maybe just a tad hyper, but nothing we couldn't handle."

"'Couldn't handle'? The doctor said that dad is on the verge of a nervous breakdown! He wants to keep him in the hospital for the rest of the week!"

"Well, Trunks was a bit too much for him to handle. He _is_ getting on in years, Bulma. I'm sure that the rest will do him some good. As for the house, the damage is minor-"

"Minor-" Vegeta half rose out of his chair and Bulma had to grab onto his arm and haul him back down.

As if she hadn't been interrupted, her mother babbled on; "-and besides, the living room could use a much needed makeover anyway. Perhaps that adorable Ty Pennington from that popular television show could give me some pointers. He called two days ago, you know-"

Bulma looked at her sharply. "He- What? Are you serious?"

"Who?" Vegeta asked, frowning.

"Absolutely! What a wonderful person! He offered to do up a newlywed suite for you and Vegeta for free! And some fellow named Mr. Burnett wants to talk about a possible reality show starring the two of you. Isn't that just incredible? Also, Oprah called, and Dr. Phil, and Tyra Banks, what a sweet woman-"

_"Who?"_ Vegeta asked again.

"You two are famous!" Mrs. Briefs gushed, as she began clearing away the table with her one good arm. "The phone has been ringing off of the hook ever since the day you left. Every news station, talk show, newspaper, magazine, fan club, and interest group is trying to get an exclusive interview with you two."

"You hear that, stud?" Bulma elbowed her husband. "You have fans!"

"Uhm," he muttered, snatching a piece of toast from a plate before Mrs. Briefs made off with the dishes into the kitchen.

When the blonde returned, she brought back armload of letters and dropped them in front of her daughter. "These are for you, dear," she said and returned to the kitchen.

"Wow! They love me, they all love me!" Bulma cried, tearing through the letters like a maniac.

Mrs. Briefs came back wrestling with a full garbage bag. "And Vegeta sweetie, these are all for you, dear!" she said and emptied the bag full of letters, manila envelopes, postcards, gifts, and trinkets on the table in front of him. She kissed his cheek and danced off into the living room, starting to clean up the mess of broken pottery and ripped paper while humming happily to herself.

Bulma glanced over at the huge pile and then to her husband. He looked back, adding his trademark cocky smirk. "Oh, shut up," she mumbled, slumping back into her seat, all previous enthusiasm gone.

* * *

The newlyweds were swiftly absorbed back into their various routines that they'd had prior to the wedding, although they had to make more than a few concessions. Vegeta could no longer enjoy his morning runs in the nearby park without being hassled by reporters and camera crews and had to fly out to the country to be left alone. He also assumed full responsibility for keeping a firm eye on Trunks and resuming his role as trainer and disciplinarian (_as far as being a 'loving father' was concerned: Fuck that. He was still too pissed about his fish_). His days were spent with the boy (much to Bulma's parents' inconceivable relief) and after supper, he returned to the simulator with a vengeance, eager to make up for twelve days of roaming around the planet. As charming as a diversion that the sightseeing and rutting had been, it had done little for his gravity training and he had to actively work himself back up to his previous limits.

Bulma was unprepared for the surge of popularity in Capsule Corporation products and she was hip-deep in paperwork from the moment she resumed the role as President. Ever the opportunist, she would have been insane not to take advantage of the renewed attention and her days were spent with marketing executives, fashion designers, automobile companies, and giving interviews. It initially ticked her off that people had more interest in Vegeta than her, and were often disappointed when they discovered that she was the only one who would talk to them. She supposed that she could understand. The Saiyan was a complete mystery and if there was any diversion that all humans shared, it was the desire to solve a mystery. By being uncooperative, Vegeta was actually doing the company a favor and inadvertently prolonging the interest.

For the next two weeks straight, the pair rarely saw one another during the day, if at all. And at night, one was usually asleep in the bed before the other one appeared, too exhausted to do anything more...

At the beginning of the third week, Vegeta exited his gravity simulator at about four in the afternoon with a towel slung over one shoulder and Trunks slung over the other. The boy had forgotten most of his kata while his parents had been on their honeymoon and Vegeta had to teach him all over again. Each day, he showed the boy new steps and today was the first day the youth had executed the complete routine, not once but twice. The baby was completely exhausted and that was exactly how Vegeta wanted him to be. Even Bulma's parents could hardly believe the turnabout in Trunks' behavior; no more wanton destruction of the house, no more bratty outbursts, and a much calmer demeanor. Up until the honeymoon, her parents had thought all of the training to be excessively harsh to such a small child but now they realized that the Saiyan hybrid actually craved the activity.

Standing in the shade of the simulator, Vegeta closed his eyes and savored the warmth of the still air and the quite lull of afternoon traffic. He stayed that way for several minutes before his battle sense picked up something small rapidly approaching and he snatched a capsule out of the air even before he had opened his eyes.

"Nice catch," Bulma remarked, walking across the lawn towards him in her bare feet. She was wearing her dress skirt and blouse, with her blazer casually slung over one shoulder and her shoes dangling from her hand. "It looked like you were half asleep."

"And beaning me side of the head with a capsule was how you intended to wake me up?" he asked her, half miffed and half joking.

"Oh, I knew you'd catch it," she dismissed, pulling Trunks off of his shoulder to hold him. The boy didn't even rouse. "Pop it open and take a look."

"What is it?"

"Your jeep, silly. I had the garage repair it."

He pressed the lever and threw it to the side and when the smoke cleared, he said, "That is _NOT_ my jeep."

"I let the boys pimp your ride," she said happily. "Everything under the hood is still the same. They just went wild on the styling, is all."

Vegeta's shoulders sagged with more than just weariness and he had to actually squint as the late afternoon's suns rays reflected off of the highly polished chrome which was, it seemed, everywhere; The bumpers, the rims, the roll bar, around the windows. They had taken all of the dents out, which the Saiyan thought added character to the old vehicle, and painted it dark blue with elaborate gold and white pin striping along the sides. The interior had been replaced with white leather and there was a sound system installed in the dash that appeared, when really cranked up, to be able to broadcast to Mars. The only thing that he ever used it for was to get the weather.

When the Saiyan's silence stretched on, Bulma asked tentatively, "Don't you like it?"

"It's fine," he sighed. At the very worst, he supposed, it could have been painted yellow like everything else at Capsule Corporation.

"I knew you'd like it," she said. "I cleared my schedule for tonight. You can take me for a ride."

"No, I'm training tonight."

"Really?" she stuck her bottom lip out in a pout as she sashayed up beside him. "We both have been sooo busy-"

"I like being busy."

"But it's not the really _fun_ way of being busy. All we've been doing is working, or training, and... I'm lonely, Vegeta."

"Woman, you're surrounded by people all bloody day long."

"I work with them, sure, but I don't-" she checked to see if Trunks was awake, or dozing, and silently mouthed a word that immediately caught Vegeta's attention, "-them. I only want to-" she mouthed that word again, "-_you_. I want to feel your thick, hard-" her lips moved deliberately around the harsh consonant, "-deep in my wet-" her tongue peeked out as she teased him with that forbidden word, "and I want to feel that _tonight_."

"...What time?" Vegeta found himself asking, his voice sounded very different from its usual blunt tone.

"After supper."

He gave her an absent nod, his mind still filling in the gaps of her description and exciting him more with every variation he came up with. When she gave him a grateful kiss, her tongue slipped into his mouth like a playful snake, and he began reaching for her until she slipped away.

"Tonight," she said, carrying Trunks into the house. "I promise."

Blinking dully like a man coming out of a dream, he absently wondered how the woman managed to manipulate him so easily. He was still puzzling over it when he turned and ran straight into Mrs. Briefs. She had been doing yard work all afternoon and was meticulously tending to her roses.

She raised her floppy hat in greeting and spouted out; "Hello Vegeta. _My goodness!_ Is that a weed-whacker in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

Looking down, Vegeta realized that Bulma's dirty whispered innuendos had given him a raging hard-on; plainly visible in the tight spandex shorts he wore. He immediately flushed bright crimson, unable to even come up with a retort, and phased out of sight in a desperate retreat.

Mrs. Briefs continued on her way as if she had never even been interrupted, sighing, "If only I were ten years younger..."

* * *

Despite an elaborate main course of lamb chops and sautéed Chinese vegetables, Vegeta hardly tasted the meal as he kept his gaze trained solely on his bride. Bulma was seated across the table from him wearing one of her micro-mini skirts, that enough was to drive him wild, but she was also wearing a sheer silk blouse that left little to the imagination. Because her parents were also at the table, she had a shawl around her shoulders, but the Saiyan, from his vantage point, could plainly see that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her strutted nipples were practically poking him in the face.

For what seemed like an eternity, the meal went on until Bulma finally put her fork down and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "That was incredible, mom. What's for dessert?"

"You are," Vegeta said, jumping to his feet. He walked swiftly around the table and pulled Bulma to her feet. "Let's get going."

"Wow! Somebody's impatient tonight," Bulma giggled as she tried to keep up with the anxious Saiyan. She waved good-bye to Trunks and her stunned parents. "Have a good night, every-" her words were cut off as Vegeta slammed the front door.

Mr. And Mrs. Briefs shared an astonished blink of surprise and then turned a fearful gaze over to Trunks. It was the first time that they had been left alone with the baby since his parents' return.

As if sensing the attention, the boy stopped eating long enough to flash them a cunning grin.

"Oh no," Dr. Briefs groaned, clutching his napkin. "Not again..."

* * *

"You do know that it drives me nuts when you pull that cockteasing routine of yours," Vegeta grated from between clenched teeth as he drove them out of the city limits.

"I know," she said with a small smile.

"Then why the hell do you do it?"

"Because you like it."

He whipped his head around to stare at her. "I do _NOT_ enjoy struggling to keep my dick in my pants when your parents are seated right next to me. Are you crazy?" He passed her an impatient wave. "Don't answer that. I already know the answer."

"Hey!"

"Where are we going anyway?"

She crossed her arms. "It's not far, just a ways up the mountain. I'll tell _you_ where to _go_," she said, flashing him a sidelong glare.

"Uhm," he grunted, returning the look.

The jeep easily navigated the twists and turns of the steep slope and, at her instruction; he pulled off and drove down a dirt road not easily seen from the paved highway. From there, he turned onto a woodlot trail that went deep into the thick forest. "Damn it, woman!" he cursed, putting the jeep into 4-wheel drive to navigate the muddy ruts and heavy brush that had grown over the rarely used path. "Will you tell me where the hell we're going?"

"You'll know when we get there," she just said mysteriously, smiling.

He drove until he came to a fallen tree that completely blocked their path. When he started to get out to move it, she pulled out a blanket from the backseat and touched his arm. "Don't bother. We're almost there. We can walk the rest of the way."

"Walk where?" he almost shouted.

"It's not far," was all she would say and turned on a flashlight, walking purposely away.

He didn't like this and spared the foreboding timber an unsettled glance. He had never been comfortable in places he didn't know and Bulma's strange behavior was wearing on his already strained nerves. The black trees loomed over him and there were unseen creatures lurking in the depths, far beyond his vision. He could sense their presence and unknown agenda. There was the furtive snapping of brush nearby and some...thing with glowing eyes settled on a branch overhead and hooted, startling him.

_No, he didn't like this one little bit_, but despite his misgivings he followed after Bulma just the same.

"We're here!" Bulma announced as they stepped out of the thick woods into a small, grassy clearing. The tree line ended on either side giving them a perfect, unobstructed view of the valley from where they could see the shining lights of the Western Capital.

"You had me drive you all the way out here when we could have gone to a hotel or someplace comfortable?" Vegeta couldn't believe it.

"You can be more appreciative. I spent the last two weeks looking for a perfect spot before I finally found this one. It's all about the view. Look over there!" she pointed to the right and there he finally saw it, struggling to rise as if it were pulling itself free from the ocean depths itself.

The moon.

It was the wish that Bulma had made at Dende's Lookout. The thing that she missed the most; the object of ancient worship by druids and that most sought-after of romantic icons by couples and lovers worldwide. Tonight the moon was full and bloated, looking enormous on the horizon and tinged slightly by nature's orange brush.

"Oh," Vegeta said in surprise. He had seen the holographic projections that the Capital used to project every night, it had been nothing spectacular and his body could tell it was an imposter even before his eyes confirmed it. These last two weeks he had noted the difference as the restored moon ran slowly through its phases. There had been many a time when he had exited the gravity simulator late at night and just stared at it with deep longing. His was a shape changing were-race that had a secret pact with the moon that went deeper than blood and bones. It used to be a celebration of the night that the Saiyans would enjoy no matter which world they were on; changing into Oozarus to destroy, murder, and breed.

This was the first time that he stood under the Earth's full moon without his tail, but he could still feel its power. He had to close his eyes as his entire body was seized by a shiver that raced up his spine and throughout his limbs like an electric shock, making his entire body break out in sweat and excited goose-flesh. His heart practically leapt from his chest and began beating rapidly. He gripped his head and released a strangled growl.

"Vegeta?" Bulma asked timidly.

"I... can feel it," he managed to say, trying to get his rapid breathing under control. "I can't turn Oozaru without my tail, but I can still feel the light. It-it's _everywhere!"_ he turned to look at her and she released a cry of shock, taking a fearful step back.

His eyes had transformed into two glowing silver disks and his hair had finally, completely, grown back to its prior, flame-styled length. He was breathing quickly, his breath coming out in swift pants, and she could see that his canines had grown, just enough to be noticeable. "You – Vegeta, you're changing-"

"No more than this," he told her quickly. "I have it under control," he closed his eyes for a few seconds and when he stared at her again, they had lost their supernatural luster. "It just... caught me by surprise. You should have warned me that this was what you had planned."

"I didn't know you would react so strongly to it," she confessed in a small voice.

"I didn't either," he responded honestly, inspecting his hands. He could have sworn that his nails had grown. "I'm a Saiyan, but tonight was the first time in a very long while that I've actually felt like one." He actually smiled over at her and she realized that he wasn't angry with her; it was just the opposite. Her slip of the tongue on Dende's Lookout had given him a very special gift, one that he wouldn't have thought to communicate to Shenron.

Relieved, Bulma laid out the blanket and the pair sat down to watch the moon rise, its luster gaining brilliance as it began its inexorable ascent. Snuggling close to the Saiyan, she detected a change in his scent that went deeper than deodorant, soap or shampoo. There was a musky, rangy undertone to it that was not entirely unpleasant, reminding her of some wild animal; a leftover of his reaction to the moonlight. Gradually, she began to search for more of that heady scent, unbuttoning his shirt while tracing her tongue along his neck and shoulder, drinking up the combination of his smell intermingled with her saliva.

Initially transfixed by the sight of the moon, Bulma's efforts were beginning to rekindle his earlier lust. He felt slightly light-headed, almost drunk from the light shining overhead, and he finally turned to the sole creature fortunate enough to be sharing this very special night with him. Who, in fact, was responsible for all of it.

Enormously grateful, he parted the buttons of her blouse and kissed her chest tantalizingly close to her nipples. He knew from the first time they had lied together how sensitive her breasts were and he drew each of the erect little buds slowly into his mouth in turn, sucking on them and then biting them, hard enough to provoke a spasm of pleasure through her without being too painful.

She moaned and sighed as he unselfishly brought her pleasure, giving him gentle nips of encouragement along his neck and collarbone as she guided his hand down between her legs. He groaned at what his fingers found; her panties were soaked with readiness. Tugging the fabric aside, he slid one finger into her opening, then two, rubbing them against her vibrating button, causing her to buck and churn against him.

When he could stand no more, he leaned her back on the blanket, urgently fumbling with his belt and finally tugging his pants down over his hips, freeing his straining member. Running his hands over the sensual curves of her thighs, he positioned himself between them missionary style. Her legs parted fully as she drew them slightly up, bent, allowing him full access to the parted lips of her womanhood. Gasping, she felt the wide head of his shaft tenderly probe her warmth, teasing her with its size, and she arched her back, communicating her readiness with impatient whimpers.

He leaned over her on his hands, and slid easily into her just as nature intended, as if they were designed for each other, relishing the face-to-face intimacy. With his shirt open he got to feel her hard little nipples spearing his muscular chest. She raised her knees higher, passed her hands up under the back of his shirt and pulled him down to meet her open mouth, her strong, white teeth slowly nibbling at the tip of his tongue.

Her clothes were a total mess, her panties dangling around her ankle, her skirt bunched up around her waist, blouse tangled under her back, her hair in her face, but she was magical in the moonlight, swollen with femininity just like the moon: the roundness of her breasts and face, the softness of her cheeks and lips, clinging to him like shadow, biting his lips and begging him to do it harder, _faster._

He rose up to get more leverage and was over her on his knees and forearms, resting on his elbows. He saw that look on her face, heard the desperation in her voice and felt those sharp nails digging into his back. Responding to that wanton need, he squeezed her breasts in his hands, smothering her face with his kisses and sucking the cries from her mouth as his hips rose and fell like a jack hammer, spearing his bloated lance into her, overcome with love and lust.

Bulma's hands went from his face to his back to gripping his arms, impatient with growing urgency when she suddenly said, "Wait Vegeta! Stop!"

With a surprised grunt, he reared up on his arms and looked around, thinking she'd seen someone. He saw nothing but moonlit surroundings, all tinged with silver and blue. She put her hands on his face, her eyes catching the light overhead and transforming them into glowing jewels. Smiling broadly, she pointed up to the full moon that hung perfectly over them, the only witness to this act of lovemaking. "Isn't it beautiful?" she asked breathlessly. "It wasn't a wasted wish, was it? The moon?"

Hesitating, Vegeta considered her words with far more control than the situation called for. He was levered up over her, sinking even deeper into the throbbing wetness of her womanhood, her knees up against his ribs, surrounded by the quiet of the moonlit night, the stars above and the crickets in the bushes. This was all so overwhelming; far beyond his experiences that only involved periods of mind-numbing violence, sadism and torture, and the extreme boredom of patrolling the empty expanse of space. It seemed such a simple question on the surface but she was asking for so much more; seeking approval, an assurance that he had no lingering animosity over having the wish usurped.

"No," he managed to say. "It wasn't wasted." His passion just exploded inside of him like a bomb and he fell on top of her, kissing and licking her sweat-streaked face, overwhelmed with feelings that he was unable to articulate. _It was a perfect wish_, he wanted to say. _And yes, it's beautiful: the moon, the night, you, your pussy, your tits, everything I feel tonight. All perfect because of you!_

But words failed him, not that he could have said any of that to her anyway, because at that point he was just too desperate to lose himself inside of her, to let himself explode, let his oceans flow and flood her moonlit fields. She was clinging to him and telling him to give it to her, to let her have it, every drop, because on this special night she was particularly vocal. Her orgasms came like contractions, minutes, if not seconds apart; with each she screamed though clenched teeth, then panted for breath before yet another, more violent quake rolled though her. He kept himself jammed to the hilt inside of her as he held her and then spurted out his shuddering release deep into her darkness while his entire being was seized with those whole-body spasms of ejaculatory release.

When the orgasmic frenzy finally passed, he hovered over her, his muscular chest heaving and his abs rippling with his heavy breathing. Beads of sweat dripped off his forehead. Slowly, he drew himself up her lithe body, hands uncurling gently from about her thighs, feeling her body still quivering from the aftermath of her own pleasure. Her hands came up under his jaw line, and with softened low whimpers, she drew him close to kiss him sweetly, lovingly, while her hands fluttered around his neck and shoulders like the wings of a dove.

The moon continued its journey across the sky, and still the lovers remained joined together. They each should have felt oddly exposed lying out doors and having the warm night air touch their bare flesh, but there was something that felt vaguely familiar about it too, as if they'd both done this in another lifetime or dimension. The field around them shimmered under that magical buttery light and the lights of the Capital below seemed surreal.

Bulma nuzzled her husband's firm chest and felt his arms tighten around her in response. She felt deliriously happy and content, as if all the decisions and actions of the last thirty-five years of her life had driven her to experience this one precise moment. The weather, the timing, the location; all perfect. She didn't want it to end, she wanted this moment to last forever, but it was unrealistic. Even the moon had to move on, eventually.

In the silence, she could feel the pulse of her lover's heavy thoughts and she studied his face very carefully. "What are you thinking about, Vegeta?"

He seemed absorbed in watching the Capital and didn't answer her right away. Finally, he pulled back a little to stare down at her; his eyes were piercing and mysterious.

"Before we were interrupted by your loser friends in the rainforest," he said to her, his voice a soft purr in the night, "I was trying to describe how you made me feel. The words still fail me, but I've realized that there are other ways to tell you..." Usually, he kept his thoughts guarded from her, allowing only the odd word or image to escape but in this moment, he finally dropped the wall and she caught a glimpse of what lied beyond. It was intended only for her.

"Oh!" she gasped in surprise.

It was a gift more amazing than even the diamond he had given her; more beautiful than anything she had ever seen or done. She was seeing herself from Vegeta's perspective: The first time on Namek while she had been cheering on Zarbon (_and yes, he was deliberately drawing the battle out while thinking that she was a spitfire and gorgeous to boot... for a human_). The sight of her face as he hauled himself from the ruins of a destroyed gravity simulator (_she was brilliantly pissed off and- damn! – if it didn't always please him when he managed to get a rise out of her_). When she had rushed to his side after he collapsed from the V'Nhar, there had been a halo around her head that night (_like those angel-creatures humans liked to talk about. Is that what she really is?_). Dying in her arms in a crowded airport, her face tear-streaked and inconsolable (_tears, and for me no less... I think I'll actually miss her_). Finally, the sight of her in her wedding dress as she stepped up to the dais where he stood with the minister. She had been... perfection (_lover, soul mate, best friend, wife. None of these words are worthy of her. She makes me feel alive. She is my **life**. How do I put that to words she can understand?_).

"You don't have to say anything," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. "I understand everything. I think I always have from the moment I first laid eyes on you."

He passed her a bewildered shake of the head. "I don't know how that's possible."

"Possible or not, it's happened, Vegeta. Don't try to puzzle it out. Fate, destiny, love... There are forces at work here that are bigger than the both of us and you can't ignore the result: We're together-"

_-Until death do us part_, she heard him whisper in the back of his mind.

"Precisely," she murmured, and leaned into him again, kissing him urgently.

Passing aloft overhead in its eternal chase of the sun, the full moon regarded the lovers with its single, impassive eye. It had witnessed the creation of the world, species emerging and becoming extinct, civilizations rising and falling, and- on this very special night- the union of two very unique people bonding under its ancient, magical light. It would continue to regard the two, as the days turned to months and eventually to years, shining over a couple that would stay united while overcoming all manner of obstacles and forces that would seek to drive them apart. It would observe that not even death itself would be able to separate them.

But right now, the moon moved along on its relentless voyage, well aware of a pact that it now shared with a certain Saiyan prince: Both saved from the depths of darkness and oblivion by single human woman.

Both saved by her love.

* * *

_THE END._

_Thanks to all of the Readers who stood faithfully by this story (you know who you are). I hope that I didn't let you down!_


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